Prometheus
by TheIronSamurai
Summary: Four years after the end of the Human-Covenant war, the galaxy has changed. Humanity has taken its rightful place among the stars. Spartans have gone from being silent defenders to the vanguard of humanity's expansion. This role comes at a price, however. As humanity reclaims its ancient birthright, one Spartan team will stand at the center of it all.
1. Prologue

Prologue

1015 Hours, February 21, 2557 (Military Calendar) \  
Aboard UNSC_ Ajax_, Location Classified

The wall shuddered, the lights dimming for a split second. The crewmembers filling the hangar bay ignored the disturbance as if nothing had happened. They continued to fill the single D82-EST Darter cargo ship with crates of varying sizes. Most were marked as general supplies, carrying essentials like food, water, or medicine. Some, however, stood out from the rest. The black titanium crates were simply marked "ONI SECTION III TOP SECRET."

The crates weren't the only things that stood out in the hangar, though. A few enlisted men stopped to sneak glances towards the rear of the Darter, before being berated by the deck officer. Lieutenant Falk shook her head and turned away from the now scurrying crewmembers. She had followed their gazes to the disturbance.

Near the Darter's rear hatch stood four armored giants. They had been standing there for almost an hour now talking amongst themselves. Their armor, a polished gunmetal gray, contrasted deeply with the green backdrop of the Darter's hull. Unlike the ODSTs, who had been walking around in fatigues the whole voyage, these soldiers preferred to keep their state-of-the-art armor sealed up. _I've never seen any of their faces_, the lieutenant realized. _Doesn't help the image of them being machines._

It was hard not to stare at the Spartans. Their predecessors had been touted as humanity's protectors: legendary warriors with decades of intense training and equipped with the most advanced technology known to man. It was no secret that the Spartan-IIs and IIIs had saved humanity half a dozen times over the course of the Great War. The Master Chief had become something of a demigod to soldiers and sailors like Falk. The IVs were no less impressive looking, with their laundry list of biochemical and cybernetic augmentations as well as bleeding edge equipment. But still, Falk had served with Spartans before, and none of them acted quite like these ones.

Spartan-IVs were almost notoriously different from their predecessors: loud, emotional, and less… robotic than the IIs and IIIs. Falk supposed that it stemmed from their recruitment procedures: the IIs and IIIs, if the stories were true, were trained from a young age to be soldiers, augmented at the onset of puberty. The IVs, on the other hand, were selected from among the most battle-hardened soldiers of the Great War, from ODSTs to Army Airborne troopers. Their augmentations were less extensive and they lacked the years of conditioning that the original Spartans had. The IIs and IIIs were almost emotionless, whereas the IVs acted human, for lack of a better term. Most IVs, at least.

A voice woke the lieutenant from her musings with a start. Turning to face the speaker, all Falk saw was a gray titanium chest plate. Tilting her head upwards, her eyes widened at the Spartan who had somehow snuck up on her. _How is that even possible?_ She quickly sized up the supersoldier, taking in his imposing physical appearance while trying not to show her trepidation.

His body type, broad shoulders and a powerful chest, betrayed his sex. Like the rest of his fireteam, his armor was painted standard gray. At this distance, though, Falk could see the scratches and dents from years of combat and training exercises. He wore the Soldier variant of the GEN2 armor suite, the design of which unintentionally (or perhaps not) struck fear into the lieutenant's heart. The helmet's pattern in particular sent chills down her spine. It was up-armored, with a thick metal cowl covering the lower half of the facemask. Instead of a large polarized faceplate, a single horizontal visor ran across his eyes, painted black as the gulf of space.

He spoke, his helmet's speakers adding an eerie metallic filter to his already imposing voice. It was a deep baritone, but it was rather soft, almost pained, which was odd considering Falk's previous experiences with Spartans. "Lieutenant, what is the estimated time to departure?" It took her a few seconds to compose herself and clear her throat to respond. "Flight officer has you scheduled for departure in twenty minutes, Spartan." A single drop of sweat trickled across her brow as she awaited his reply.

To her surprise, the armored behemoth nodded so slightly that she almost missed it. Then, without a single word, he turned and started walking to join the rest of his team. Falk's shoulders dropped as the tension from the encounter left her body. She breathed a sigh of relief and refocused her attention to the loading procedures.

* * *

Onyx One crossed the thirty meters from the Lieutenant's position on the deck to his team's in seconds. His teammates had all congregated around one of the mobile weapons trolleys scattered throughout the deck. One of his Spartans noticed his approach and turned to face him fully. The rest of his team followed suit soon after. _Good, everyone's here._

"Give me a sitrep, Two." He directed his attention to a male Spartan outfitted in the Rogue armor variant. Onyx Two was different than most other male Spartans: he had a decidedly leaner build and was about six feet five inches in his armor. One knew, though, that Two was not to be underestimated. The short Spartan was the most brilliant marksman One had ever seen. For this mission, however, his long-range talents would be less utilized.

"All equipment and weapons are already on board. Once the deck crew finishes loading the Darter, we'll be ready for dust-off." One nodded in affirmation and turned to the assault specialist of the fireteam, Onyx Three. While Two was lithe and compact, Three was muscular and gigantic, towering over the rest of Team Onyx at seven feet three inches. While his strength was something to behold, his speed was still blinding, enough to stun any enemy. Three's armor reflected his particular style of combat. The Vanguard armor, which was up-armored on his request, was designed to just one thing: direct engagement with enemy forces.

"Three, what's the loadout for this mission?" Three turned and strode over to the weapons trolley, followed closely by the rest of the fireteam. When everyone had finally circled around the trolley to watch him, Three reached into the trolley, rooted around for a few seconds, and withdrew a shotgun from one of the racks. "First, we have the M45D tactical shotgun, loaded with M296 SC 8 gauge shells. Standard loadout of 30 shells." He racked the slide to empty any remaining shells and placed the shotgun back on the rack. Next, he grabbed an assault rifle. "MA5D assault rifle, chambered for 7.62 FMJ-AP." He tossed the rifle to the team leader, whose hand snapped up to catch it.

"Looks like a full combat loadout." The team leader examined the assault rifle as he spoke. He had always preferred the weapon from his first days in basic training, a preference hammered home by his long career as an ODST. It was simple but elegant, able to put out an immense amount of fire downrange. Syncing the rifle with his HUD, he watched the icon appear in the upper right corner. Walking over to the weapons rack, he picked up a full magazine of 7.62 mm ammunition and loaded the assault rifle. He cycled the bolt and then placed the assault rifle on his back. The magnetic strips located there secured the weapon with an audible click.

The rest of his team followed his lead. Onyx Four was the first to step up to the trolley and started to load a shotgun with shells. Her armor reflected her MOS before she joined the Spartan-IV program: a specialization in explosive ordnance. Four had selected the EOD suite, its helmet upgraded to better link with and detonate remote explosive devices.

The second member of Onyx Team to select her weapons was the team's resident stealth recon and zero-gravity combat expert, Onyx Five. Five, unlike most Spartans, actually used two different armor variants, depending on the parameters of a given mission. Her mainstay was always the Air Assault variant, a constant from her days as a NAVSPECWAR operator. However, when the mission called for zero-G combat, she would swap it out for the EVA armor, which she further optimized for her style of flee-floating combat. Right now, she was wearing the Air Assault armor, as their mission would not (hopefully) involve zero-gravity fighting.

Onyx Two and Three also loaded up with weapons and ammo. The whole team was armed within twenty seconds. "Equipment check." One accessed his armor's systems via his neural interface, initiating a full system scan. While his armor was not equipped with any additional technology packages, called "armor abilities" by most Spartan-IVs, it was an upgraded command version of the GEN2 armor. He had mounted a TACPAD in his left gauntlet, allowing him to access various UNSC databases for combat information. In addition, the suit had improved radio and satellite uplinks, fitting with his role as team leader. Finally, his armor was singularly unique in that it possessed something no other MJOLNIR [GEN2] armor did: the potential to carry an A.I. It utilized the memory-processor superconductor layer from the Mark VI armor, which, combined with his upgraded neural interface, allowed for integration with a "Smart" A.I. However, the Spartan in question had never been given an A.I. to utilize, as they were far and few between following the end of the Great War.

The scan started. First, the weapons and equipment uplinks flashed on his HUD twice. The ammo counter flickered briefly before the scanning software began to access other systems. His shields cut off, the audible alarm blaring in his helmet before One shut it off with a thought. Almost instantly, the shield began to recharge. The golden glow of the MJOLNIR shields accompanied the refilling shield bar. A window then opened across his HUD, code flashing across the screen so fast it was a blur even to his enhanced eyes.

Ten seconds later, the screen flashed green, signifying the end of the system scan. Assured that his armor was operating at optimal levels, One stepped up to the weapons rack. He began to put cartridges for the MA5D in storage compartments on his chest, his armor's HUD keeping track of his ammo count. He then began to slide shotgun shells into the remaining armor compartments, making sure that he was loaded for bear. Satisfied with his ammunition reserves, the Spartan team leader yanked a shotgun from the trolley.

"Let's get to work, people."

* * *

The five members of Onyx Team strode over to the crew hatch of the Darter. The movement of the Spartans was not lost on the crew of the _Ajax_, who turned to watch them. The supersoldiers noticed this, taking in the silence of the once bustling hangar bay. They stopped in front of the crew hatch of the Darter, turning to face the Navy personnel once more. Long seconds of silence followed, broken by the sound of footsteps on the metal deck.

A lieutenant commander, by his insignia, stepped from the crowd of sailors, striding to meet the Spartans. As he moved closer, the VISR modules in the Spartan's helmet flagged him as "LCDR Andrew Webb" and gave a quick summary of his CSV. By the time Onyx One had scanned the information, Webb had stopped directly in front of him.

The Spartan, at six feet eleven inches, towered over the officer, who couldn't have been more than five feet ten inches. Nevertheless, Webb smirked and stared into One's visor. The commander couldn't see, but the Spartan's rugged face displayed utter shock. Not many humans could stare into a Spartan's visor like that without flinching in the slightest. But it was the officer's next action that completely stunned the Spartan.

Andrew Webb extended his right hand outward to the armored supersoldier. His brain was slow to respond, but after a few seconds, One's armored gauntlet enveloped the man's much smaller hand. Webb smiled broadly and then pulled his right hand away. "Lieutenant Commander Webb, from Engineering. I just couldn't believe it when I saw the crew manifest. Honest to god Spartans, I thought, but then I saw your unit." If it was possible for Spartans to look puzzled, Fireteam Onyx fit that description. Their heads all cocked a little to the left, and their fingers started to twitch slightly.

"I think I speak for all of us when I say thank you for your service. This ship, she wouldn't be here if it wasn't for your team taking out those defense platforms during that fight on Malurok." At the mention of "Malurok", the entire Spartan team tensed up, with One's hands folding into fists. This action went unnoticed by Webb, who continued on. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Spartans." He snapped into attention, saluting, and shouted, his commanding voice resounding throughout the crowded hangar. "Spartans on deck!" Almost immediately, the dozens of Navy personnel in the hangar followed Webb's example, the sound of their boots echoing loudly.

Fireteam Onyx stood stunned for a second or two, which seemed like an eternity. Then, Onyx One returned the salute, with the rest of his team following suit. "Thank you, Commander. We were only doing our duty." He tried to keep the pain in his voice hidden, aided by the metallic filter of the external speakers. The exchange was making him relive memories he would rather leave forgotten.

The Commander stopped saluting the Spartans and was quickly followed by the Navy crews in the hangar. "Duty? I'd say…" The officer left it at that and walked away, shaking his head in disbelief. Fireteam Onyx, miffed and confused by the encounter, turned around and walked towards the Darter. They had work to do.

* * *

The Darter pulled away from the _Ajax_, the cruiser's energy shields visibly lowering. The golden glow of the shielding reminded the Spartans of the MJOLNIR armor's own protective barriers, and moreover the advancements the UNSC had made in the post-war era. Not only had humanity survived the deadliest conflict in its existence, it had achieved a level of technological prowess that would have taken decades, or even centuries, to achieve otherwise. Human ships now could travel through slipspace with precision, energy shielding was being mounted on military vessels, and real-time communications across vast distances was now a reality.

Onyx Two stared at the shrinking bulk of the cruiser through the rear viewport, watching her shields activate once again. The glow was almost mesmerizing. Almost. The Spartan shook his head, realizing that he was daydreaming again. Turning his attention forward again, he strode forward to the front of the cargo bay, joining up with the rest of the fireteam.

They were standing around a holographic projection of an asteroid field, emitted from hidden holotanks in the ceiling. Another holotank nearby projected an image of an impeccably dressed man in a tuxedo, holding a martini glass in its right hand. Two sighed as he recognized the avatar. It was Bond, the _Ajax_'s A.I. and a major pain in the ass. For one thing, the "smart" A.I. wouldn't stop saying "The name's Bond, James Bond." For another, its nonchalant attitude pissed the Spartans off to no end. Two held his tongue, however, as he noticed the tense body language of his comrades.

Bond, swirling his imaginary drink around, was speaking. "Finally, the last Spartan shows up. I'll start the briefing." He was stopped by a loud grunt of disapproval coming from Three. The massive Spartan stepped towards the A.I., towering over the miniature avatar. "Team leader always briefs us, sparky. Not some goddamn A.I. who hasn't learned to keep quiet." Two found himself nodding in agreement, but kept his mouth shut.

Bond turned to the assault specialist, with a stupid grin on his face. "Of course, Three. I'll transfer the relevant data to you now. I'll just focus on flying this ridiculous ship with less than a thousandth of my processing power." The British-sounding voice ceased suddenly as he focused his attention elsewhere. His avatar disappeared soon after, eliciting a vocal sigh of relief from several members of the team.

"Now we can get to work." Two had spoken out of turn, but One allowed it. The rest of the Spartans nodded in agreement and turned to their team leader. The Spartan hadn't said a thing during the terse exchange. He seemed to be lost in thought. Two rolled his eyes and clicked the TEAMCOM twice. The noise caught One's attention, his helmet jerking just slightly. Turning to face his team fully, the leader looked down at his arm-mounted TACPAD and inputted several commands.

The holographic projection of the asteroid field zoomed in sharply, focusing on one of the major clusters. Two large asteroids were present at its center, with dozens of smaller celestial objects surrounding them. The two asteroids were linked by what looked like a manmade umbilical of some kind, projected by a glimmering energy shield. The larger of the two, at around fifteen kilometers in length and almost two kilometers in height, had multiple structures on the surface, while the smaller one, at eight kilometers long and a kilometer tall, was completely barren.

"This is our new station, Spartans. ONI Research Facility 054323-45, designate Prometheus. Other information on the station's purpose is highly classified, but we can safely assume, based on the secrecy of its location and defenses, that it is a Tier-One R&amp;D facility. The station is currently home to 419 scientists and their families, in addition to a company of Marines and two full platoons of ODSTs. We've been ordered by the brass to review and revise the station's defensive tactics and strategies, and to aid the existing security forces.

The station is built into the asteroid, with only about 25 percent of the facility being on the surface. Most of the aboveground structures you see here are defensive buildings and short-term storage warehouses. The heart of this facility…" One pressed a button on his TACPAD. The hologram zoomed in further, showing the interior of the big asteroid. It was a veritable maze of hallways and rooms, with a central command center three decks above the station's reactor in the heart of the asteroid. "…is underground."

Two spoke up at this point. "So what's the point of this briefing? Won't the station's commander give us the information on defenses when we get there?" Onyx Three nodded slightly in the affirmative, signaling his agreement. One was impassive as he spoke.

"Because we have to storm the facility."

The Spartans stood there in silence. To say they were shocked would be an understatement. Why were they storming an ONI facility they were supposed to be protecting? Five was the first to lift the veil of silence. "Sir, that's insane. Why?"

"Unknown, but orders are orders. Until we can confirm that UNSC forces are in control of the installation, we are to treat any contacts as hostile. We are to assume that the internal station defenses are trained on us and ready to engage. As of now, we are at TACCON Red."

Three grunted loudly, expressing the team's thoughts at this revelation. "So what now, sir? We're gonna break the door down?"

"Essentially yes. We're going to have to secure both the station's control room and the reactor complex simultaneously. Two and Five, use your stealth mods to get to the reactor. Three and Four, you're with me. We're going to draw the security personnel away from the reactor and head for the control room at the same time."

Two and Five nodded. They were often paired up for stealth missions and were used to working together. Four, meanwhile, bristled under her armor. "Sir, you know what happened the last time we split up."

One turned away from the hologram and strode towards the cockpit without responding. Just before he reached the door, he spoke to her in a pained voice. "I know." He opened the door and stepped into the cockpit without another word. The automated door slid shut with a hiss, leaving the rest of Onyx Team in the cargo bay alone.

* * *

For the last five minutes, the Spartans had spread apart. Onyx Three and Five were still analyzing the internal defenses of the station, while Two laid atop two crates made into a makeshift bed. He had closed his eyes for a mere ten seconds before a shadow fell over him. His eyes flashed open, taking in the armored behemoth standing over him. Even through her armor, Four radiated intense emotion. Two sighed and sat up, his armored feet clanging as they brushed the titanium deck.

"What's on your mind?" The female Spartan wouldn't respond, so Two tried again. "What's the matter –" "This whole mission plan is a shitstorm just waiting to happen. And don't get me started on his command style. It's like we're just objects to him, not real people. When did he become a robot?" Her arms were crossed on her chest and her helmet angled pointedly away from Two. Two stood up shaking his head.

"We've all been through a lot since Malurok. You just need to give him time to grieve." Two pushed past Four, ignoring her angered grunt and heading for the other two Spartans. Both had heard Two and Four's exchange. Three stepped away from the hologram and started to walk over to Four past the approaching Spartan. Five, on the other hand, had ignored what she heard, firmly engrossed in what she was doing.

Two stopped behind Five and placed his hands on her shoulders. The action startled her. She turned around in the blink of an eye, knocking his hands away. He heard the whirring of her prosthetic right arm as it rose into a guard position, the mechanical fingers curling into a fist. It took her a short amount of time to recognize her supposed assailant before she dropped her arms.

"Oh, it's you. Sorry." Her shoulders slumped and her head dropped in shame. Two smirked under his visor and crossed his arms. "Well, well, someone's a little antsy." "Of course I am. This is my first combat op since…" Her throat closed up and she grew quiet. She gestured to her prosthetic without a word.

Two nodded in affirmation and dropped the subject. Before either acknowledged the awkward silence, a flash of light from the hologram drew their attention. Bond's avatar had materialized. "Spartans, you have one minute and twenty-two seconds until docking. Now might be a good time to get ready to dance." Three growled at the last remark, taking a threatening step towards the A.I. Bond, looking flustered, disappeared just as quickly as he came. "Damn computer…" The massive Spartan grunted as he grabbed the assault rifle from his back, cycling the bolt.

The cockpit door slid open with a whir as One stepped into the cargo bay. "Let's move, Onyx. Standard spearhead formation: Three in front, Four and me following. Two and Five, I want you to move in two mikes after our insertion. From there, you know what to do."

The Spartans nodded in acknowledgement and moved to the cargo airlock on the starboard side. Three took his position right in front of the massive door, his finger hovering over the trigger. One and Four stood behind him, assault rifles at the ready. Two and Five, on the other hand, hid behind the crates near the entrance, keeping their presence concealed. One opened the mission clock in his HUD: seventeen seconds to hard seal. At ten seconds, the Darter shook as it made contact with the station's airlock.

One flashed a yellow acknowledgement light over the TEAMCOM: _Ready._ The metal hull clanged again as hard seal was made. The mission clock hit zero seconds. This time, a green acknowledgement light.

_Go!_

* * *

Three moved swiftly through the airlock chamber, his weapon at the ready. Four sprinted up to the door control, flattening herself against the wall. One took a similar position at the other side of the door. Three stood in front of the titanium portal. He checked his motion tracker: the other side was clear. The Spartan nodded to his female comrade, who hit the door control. It flashed green as the ten meter-wide entrance opened up.

The three Spartans moved into the hallway, sweeping it with their weapons. Seeing no hostiles, they lowered their weapons and moved forward. Twenty meters ahead, there was a bank of freight elevators. Once the three reached the elevators, One keyed the TEAMCOM. "Two and Five, the hallway is clear. Move up." Two green acknowledgement lights flashed on his HUD. Twenty seconds later, the entire fireteam had piled into a single elevator. One pressed two buttons on his TACPAD before turning to his team.

"The cameras in here are down, so here's the plan. Two and Five, head for the reactor on Deck H. We'll draw the attention of the security teams when we head for F Deck. Three, when we hit opposition, fire up the overshields. That'll paint us as the main target."

Three flashed a green acknowledgement light on the TEAMCOM. One nodded and turned to Five. "Time to hit the camo." Without a word, Five activated her armor's active camo unit. She shimmered out of sight. Two nodded and activated his passive camo unit. His suit, while lacking an active camo unit, could put out electronic interference to make him invisible to most sensors and cameras.

The stealth team took positions at the elevator door as it slowed to a stop. Once the door slid open, the two Spartans moved out, heading right along the adjacent hallway. The assault team moved the opposite direction, towards the control room.

* * *

Two and Five slid down the elevator cables towards Deck H. They had swung back around and pried open one of the elevator doors once the assault team had left. While the control room was on Deck F, where the entire fireteam had exited the elevator, the reactor complex was on Deck H, almost five hundred meters deeper in the asteroid. The stealth team needed to descend there discretely, so the elevators weren't an option. Hence, the cables.

Two pried open the doors with a grunt, letting his cloaked companion slip through. Stepping through slowly, he let the doors slam shut behind him. Bringing his assault rifle up to sweep the hallway, he was satisfied to see no contacts. Five flashed a green acknowledgement light over their COM channel, indicating the same.

The two Spartans moved out. After nearly five minutes of creeping through the station, they were relieved to reach the entrance to the reactor complex. Five chuckled and took a few steps forward…

…just as two automated turrets sprang out of the ceiling panels and golden energy shielding activated over the blast door. Similar doors and shields sealed the hallway in front of and behind the stealth team as well. Two swore audibly and brought his assault rifle to bear on one of the turrets. That's when he noticed that the turrets' laser targeting module wasn't locked onto him. The sights were locked onto the barely visible Five. _How? It shouldn't be able to pick up on her heat signature, her camo mod is the most advanced piece of cloaking tech in both the UNSC and Covenant_.

Two knew that it was over. If he opened fire on the turrets, there was no way to destroy both before the guns killed his partner. He lowered his weapon and keyed the TEAMCOM. "One, this is Two. We have a situation here, over."

Seconds passed as he waited for a response. "Copy that. Same on this end, over."

* * *

One cut off the transmission as he looked at the ODST pointing a battle rifle's muzzle in his face. Behind him, both Three and Four were surrounded by two separate squads of the elite shock troops. They were mere meters away from the control room when the trap had been sprung. The shock troopers had come from hidden alcoves hidden by advanced holographic camo generators. No fewer than four auto-turrets were trained on the team of Spartans; the ODSTs just added to their raw firepower. If his team made any sudden movements, even their armor wouldn't save them.

"Lieutenant, stand down." A commanding voice came over the general COM, picked up by both Spartans and Helljumpers. The ODST threatening to brain One chuckled and lowered his weapon. "Boys, switch your tags on." The ODST lieutenant spoke with a crisp accent, similar to the settlers of Inner Colony worlds who had shed their ethnic roots long ago. One's mental analysis of the officer's accent was interrupted by a ping from his armor's VISR module. It highlighted the ODST in green on his HUD, indicating the activation of an IFF tag. _That's how they got the drop on us._ The platoon had deactivated their IFF tags

His HUD identified the Helljumper as "LT Gladstone" and listed off his unit: "7th Shock Troops Battalion." The Lieutenant depolarized his helmet, revealing a young face. _They get younger every year._ The fair-skinned youth had piercing blue eyes and stray blonde hairs which hung down over his face. His face, One realized, was devoid of scars, but his eyes revealed a heaviness that betrayed his nature. Gladstone had fought in the Great War, just like One.

"So, Spartans can be surprised. Never thought that plan would work." The lieutenant's lips parted in a wide smile, a rare display of emotion for most veterans. "Fighting with the Master Chief at Voi and the Ark makes you think you know Spartans, then this happens. Lieutenant Samuel Gladstone, 7th Shock Troops."

"It's a pleasure, sir." The Spartan's response was brusque and to the point. The Lieutenant's smile faltered. _There is no pleasing these guys._ The supersoldier deactivated his external speakers and turned to the rest of the assault team. Both Spartans nodded, flashing green acknowledgement lights over TEAMCOM. "This is Onyx One to Bravo Team. What's the situation, over?"

"This is Two. We're green One. Just a little shaken up, over." Two did sound shocked. The events of the past few minutes had shattered what remained of his faith in the Spartans' absolute technological superiority.

"Copy that. ETA to our current position?" One watched the auto-turrets retract into hidden ceiling panels as he spoke. This was accompanied by the audible deactivation of the control room's energy shielding.

"Twenty seconds. We picked up an escort, though. I count twelve ODSTs. Do we engage, over?" Two sounded as if his finger was hovering just above the trigger with the safety off. One grimaced internally. An antsy Spartan could be deadly for the shock troopers and eventually Two himself.

"Negative, Two. Stand down until further orders, over." "Wilco, One. Over and out." The COM clicked as Two closed the channel. One reactivated his external speakers and turned to the Lieutenant. "Sir, what is the situation?" The lieutenant, his faceplate repolarized, turned to face the Spartan. "We meet the captain."

* * *

The five Spartans and their Helljumper escort moved into the control room. The chamber was as big as a cruiser's bridge, and was oriented very similarly. Various stations were crewed by naval officers, ranging from baby faced ensigns to grizzled, battle hardened commanders. Fireteam Onyx was led towards the center of the room. They saw a single man standing in front of a holotable, reviewing what appeared to be security footage. As the image became clearer, the Spartans realized it was the footage of their capture.

"Nice job you pulled off out there. It took Athena almost five minutes to develop a tracking algorithm for the guns to find your cloaked ace in the hole." The man had spoken to them without turning. He paused the video just when Two and Five were caught. Chuckling, he turned to face Onyx Team.

The five soldiers took in the man standing before them in a glance. He was Caucasian, with an accent that sounded similar to Reach colonists, but also a hint of the signature Harvest drawl. Grey hairs at his temples and wrinkles here and there gave him a middle-aged look. The cane he leaned on didn't help with that image, either. However, when the officer looked directly at them, they saw his eyes.

Those eyes. They conveyed loss, anger, guilt, and a dozen other emotions. Moreover, they possessed a quality that was only seen in true veterans, soldiers who had survived through a great length of the Covenant War. This hardness, for lack of a better term, stemmed from losing everyone and everything one had ever cared about. One had served with many such troopers over the years. Few had survived the battles for Earth, but those who did manage to see the hard-won peace did not change. If anything, they seemed to fade away. They were no longer men: they were ghosts, distortions of their former self.

The Captain, judging by the eagles on his shoulders, limped towards the Spartans. His eyes unsettled all five supersoldiers, an unusual experience for all of them. His right hand clutched the titanium cane, which supported his weakened right leg. The Spartans' eyes collectively flickered down to his chest, where a bevy of medals and awards, including the Legion of Honor, were pinned to his uniform. This captain, it appeared, had been on the front lines, whether it be on the ground or in space.

Fireteam Onyx collectively snapped to attention, saluting the captain. "Fireteam Onyx reporting for duty, sir." The ONI officer returned the salute. "At ease, Spartans. Captain Ambrose, ONI Section Three. Welcome to Prometheus."


	2. Chapter I: CINCONI

**SECTION I: REVELATIONS**

* * *

Chapter One: CINCONI

**1100 Hours, February 21, 2557 (Military Calendar)/  
****Office of Naval Intelligence Research Station 054323-45 "Prometheus", Location Classified**

Fireteam Onyx had gone through quite an ordeal in the last hour: they had launched from the UNSC_ Ajax_ at 1021, docking with the research station exactly thirteen minutes and seventeen seconds later. The team had breached the facility at 1037, and "captured" by station security at 1042. Now, at 1100 Hours exactly, the Spartans were finally being briefed.

Captain Ambrose punched a command into the holotable console. At once, a hologram of the research station burst from the projectors. "This is ONI Research Station 054323-45, designate Prometheus. Prometheus is been classified beyond top secret by order of CINCONI and HIGHCOM. Nothing we say here will ever leave this station."

The Spartans nodded in acknowledgment. They were used to keeping secrets.

Ambrose continued. "Ever since the discovery of ONI Research Facility Trevelyan four years ago, ONI scientists have been trying to decipher the inner workings of Forerunner technology. Originally, Section Three's science division took them from Trevelyan to various facilities in the Inner Colonies and on Earth. However, after the events of the second battle of Earth, Admiral Parangosky ordered the construction of Prometheus and centralized all classified Forerunner research here. Now, all Forerunner artifacts discovered inside Trevelyan and other Forerunner facilities are first cataloged by ONI. If the artifacts are determined to be of a high level of importance, they are sent here."

Ambrose punched another string of commands into the holotable, which now projected an array of technological devices, including a suit of GEN2 MJOLNIR armor and the now famous UNSC_ Infinity_. Several of the Spartans raised an eyebrow beneath their helmets. _Infinity_ was the most powerful warship in the Navy, able to go toe-to-toe with Covenant assault carriers and come out on top. She was one of the main reasons for humanity's rapid resurgence in the postwar years.

"Starship energy shielding, improved Slipspace drives, superluminal communications. These are just a few of the secrets this station's research has helped to unlock. Thanks to the scientists here, humanity has given the Covenant bloody noses in every battle, and will never be driven to the brink of extinction again." Ambrose finished his speech in almost a growl, gripping his right leg in pain.

One thought about what the captain had said. These technologies would have given humanity a fighting chance against the Covenant onslaught. While the general public had not known of the technological disparity until the latter years of the war, the soldiers and sailors of the UNSC had seen the fury of the alien hegemony firsthand. While the Covenant's technological edge was less pronounced in ground engagements, the UNSC was completely outclassed in outer space, whether by Covenant shielding technology or their ability to conduct pinpoint Slipspace jumps.

But now, humanity was no longer weak. More and more energy-shielded ships were being commissioned each year, like the Strident-class frigates and Autumn-class heavy cruisers. Combined with the striking power of _Infinity_, the UNSC Navy had carved out an impressive foothold in the Orion Arm, taking the fight to the Covenant remnant groups that sprung up from the empire's collapse. Glassed worlds were being terraformed, and humanity could once again roam the stars without threat of annihilation.

The captain turned to the Spartans, his face now neutral. "Let's talk security measures. This station has the most powerful defensive architecture of any man made space station ever built. Its external defenses are mostly the asteroid's sheer bulk, supplemented by armor plating and energy shielding. Mini-MACs and defensive turrets, along with a few prototype plasma turrets, make up the rest of the defensive sphere around the station." The hologram of the station changed, a series of red spheres indicating the maximum range of defensive weapons. In addition, a blue dome covered the surface installations.

The captain punched another key. The hologram now showed a diagram of the station, deck by deck. The Spartans could see the virtually impenetrable defenses: turrets, shields, blast doors, along with Marine and ODST deployments. "Internal defenses are no laughing matter, either. However, with the increasing number of Forerunner artifacts being shipped here, ONI and HIGHCOM feel the need to update our safety protocols."

One stepped forward. "We're ready when you need us, sir." The captain nodded and turned to the group of officers standing next to the Spartans. Lieutenant Gladstone stood there with his helmet held at his right side. Another ODST lieutenant stood next to him, his IFF tag identifying him as "Hernandez, Diego." The five remaining officers differed from their fully armored counterparts: four wore standard Marine BDUs, while the last one was clad in a Navy service uniform, the silver leaf of a Commander pinned on his left breast. Onyx One quickly identified the Marines as the commanders of the Marine company onboard the station, but only received a partial name for the commander: "Atwood."

The captain continued to speak. "These are the senior officers aboard this station: Lieutenants Gladstone and Hernandez command our Helljumpers, Captain Mackenzie leads Alpha Company, and Commander Atwood is my XO."

Onyx One took interest in the commander: even though the man was clearly older than him, he looked frozen, as if he hadn't aged much past thirty-five. He was far more fit than even most military men of his age. In addition, the man was tall: not as tall as an augmented Spartan, for sure, but the man had to be at least six feet five inches. His eyes were light blue, but betrayed a steely resolve. It was clear that the commander had been through hell, but he seemed to be a simple ONI spook: something was very wrong.

Atwood stepped forward and extended his hand out to the leading Spartan. "Pleasure to meet you, Onyx Team. Your reputation precedes you." Onyx One grimaced under his helmet as he shook the commander's hand. _Not again_. "Of course, don't let that fame go to your head. The original Spartans still got you beat."

The original Spartans: not a phrase that Onyx One had heard uttered very often. In fact, outside of the hallowed circles of ONI Section Three, almost no one knew the truth about the ORION Project and its successors, the legendary SPARTAN-II and -III programs. While the Master Chief and his comrades were well-known to humanity, the other two programs were classified beyond top-secret. _So the good Commander is high up in Section Three then._

Captain Ambrose interrupted One's thoughts. "Now that this meet and greet is over, let's get you to your quarters. Lieutenant Gladstone, please show the Spartans to their barracks." The young ODST nodded and waved the armored supersoldiers over. "Follow me. You're bunked up on Deck C." The five Spartans fell in behind the shock trooper as he walked out of the control room.

Commander Atwood watched the Spartans until they exited the chamber, followed by the remaining infantry officers. Captain Ambrose, who had turned back to the holotable, spoke up. "What do you think Commander?" Atwood smirked and walked up to join the captain. "They're good. ONI sent us good ones."

Ambrose chuckled. "That's high praise coming from you. Remember what happened when the IIIs showed up? You just shook your head." Atwood smiled at the memory. Ambrose punched in a command, bringing up the inventory from the supply drop.

"Tell Commander Amador that her damn medical supplies finally arrived, and send Doctor Hayashi to Cargo Bay 7 for the latest shipment. The good men and women in science division have some new toys to look over." The hologram flashed, before being replaced by a beautiful woman in Greek armor. She carried a shield and spear, completing the image of an ancient Greek warrior.

"Captain Ambrose, I completed my inventory. However, I found an anomaly: a package I couldn't scan. The casing is comprised of a refractive nanopolymer which none of my sensors cannot penetrate." The two officers looked at each other in confusion before turning back to the AI.

"Any guesses on what it is?" Athena shook her head. "No sir. The only information I could get was a recipient: you, Commander Atwood." At that, the commander's face broke out into a wide smile.

A light chuckle escaped his lips as he shook his head back and forth. "Oh, Serin, you don't change one bit." Both the captain and Athena looked confused. Atwood tapped in a few commands, locating the package. "Thank you for the information Athena. I'll take it from here."

The commander strode out the door, with the captain and Athena still sporting dumbstruck looks.

* * *

The five Spartans followed Gladstone to the elevator bank, where he punched the up button. The five titans stood together silently, while the Helljumper made discreet glances over towards them. The elevator dinged softly, the doors sliding open to allow the six entrance. Gladstone once again punched the button, the C lighting up.

The doors slid shut and the elevator surged upwards. The sudden acceleration didn't faze the silent Spartans, but Gladstone swore under his breath as he stumbled. He had been so distracted by the Spartans that he hadn't braced himself. Pulling himself back up, he looked at the Spartans, who had turned their gazes toward him. _I look like a damn fool._

Just seconds later, the elevator doors opened up on Deck C. Gladstone walked out briskly, eager to escape the awkward situation of the elevator. _God, do they ever talk?_

* * *

Ironically, the Spartans were talking: just not to Gladstone.

"I don't get it: why the hell would ONI make us storm the facility? What do they have in here?" Five discreetly glanced at Two, hoping for a response. Two shrugged his shoulders slightly and continued to follow the ODST. The two had opened up a private comm channel, talking as they made their way to their barracks. They walked shoulder to shoulder behind everyone else.

Two looked ahead at Onyx One, who silently followed Lieutenant Gladstone through the hallways of the facility. "You think that he's still acting strangely?" Five followed Two's gaze to their team leader. "I don't know. He's a lot different than when he was Delta One." Two nodded ever so slightly. It was true that Onyx One had changed after Malurok, but they all had, right?

Gladstone stopped in front of a door marked "Barracks 4." "This is where I leave you." He turned and thrust his hand out, which One took and shook gently. The Helljumper grimaced underneath his helmet, but nodded at the other Spartans. "It was good to meet all of you. I'm sure I'll see you at the mess in a few minutes: they're serving lunch soon."

All five Spartans nodded at him. The ODST smiled and began to walk down the hall to his barracks. _They are __really__ weird. Wait until Vanessa hears about this._

Meanwhile, the Spartans entered their barracks, surprised to find it devoid of any other human life. The room was clearly meant to hold about forty-five Marines, but someone had removed thirty beds. Only fifteen beds remained on the far side of the barracks, the remaining space filled by five massive machines. The Spartans realized that they were a version of the stations they used to equip their armor.

Four strode over to one and accessed its control pad. "Very nice. Right here in the barracks." She stepped back and admired the machines. "I wonder where they store the armor…"

The other four Spartans meandered over to the bunks, where five duffel bags had been placed in the aisle. Each one was labeled with their names in big black letters. Each Spartan took a bag and threw it on one of the beds. Two and Five picked two bunks next to each other, while Three and One chose beds far apart at the front of the room. Two and Five noted this with apprehension, exchanging a look.

Four noticed as well. She walked over and picked up her duffle delicately. Then she all but threw it onto a bed near the back of the room, away from the rest of her team. Three opened a comm channel with her. "You doing okay?" Instead of a response, he only got a red acknowledgement light. The massive Spartan closed the channel and grumbled to himself as he walked over to the armor station marked with a 3.

Two and Five exchanged yet another glance. Two opened a channel to his friend and sighed. "This is going to be fun."

* * *

After retrieving the case from Cargo Bay 5, the commander had brought it back to his quarters on Deck E. Inputting his personal security code into the panel beside his door, he waited patiently as the biometric scanner built into the door verified his identity. "Identity confirmed: Commander Atwood." Atwood strode through the now open door, the Titanium-A portal sliding shut behind him.

Being an officer, and a high-ranking one at that, the commander's quarters were a bit more lavish than the rest of the men on the station. He had a spacious living room, a small kitchenette, and a bedroom that doubled as an office, with a personal bathroom off to the side. Carrying the small black box into the bedroom, he carefully laid it down on his desk before moving to remove his uniform. _This collar is always too tight._ In just a minute, the commander sat down at his desk, wearing a grey sweatshirt emblazoned with the ONI logo and its motto: _Semper Vigilans. _He had also doffed simple black sweatpants and a pair of comfortable black slippers he had picked up in the New Alexandria markets before Reach fell.

"Lights down." The room lights dimmed in response to Atwood's vocal commands. Clicking on his desk lamp, he turned once more to the package in front of him. It was strange, even by ONI's standards: the case had no external markings, not even any indication of a locking mechanism. Frowning slightly, he spun the case around, looking for a way to open the box.

After two fruitless minutes of searching, the commander slammed his hand down on the black case. Suddenly, a flash of blue light encapsulated his hand. "Identity confirmed: Commander Atwood, service number 02422-60545-KA." The voice issuing from the package was synthetic, but one that Atwood was intimately familiar with.

"Black-Box?" The blue light shut off suddenly, accompanied by an audible click as the latches unlocked. Lifting up the lid, Atwood took in the contents of the package: two different data crystal chips. Puzzled, the commander lifted both out and weighed them, one in each hand. Unable to decide which one he should look at first, he shrugged and slid both into slots in the desk. Placing the now empty package on the floor, he cleared the desk so its holoprojectors could work unimpeded.

The bright blue light of the projectors formed a simple cube hanging six inches over Atwood's oak desk. The box was featureless, but the brightest side faced the ONI officer. "So what brings you here, old friend? Miss me?" Atwood's lips stretched into a warm smile at the sight of an old companion. Of course, Black-Box wasn't amused.

"Oh please, as if such a perfect creation like myself would need your companionship." The smart AI's avatar swiveled around, seemingly searching the room. "Excellent. You are alone. Let me just make sure no one is watching." A sphere of pure code surrounded BB's avatar as he accessed the base's systems. "It seems that the captain trusts you, Atwood. Why he would, though, is a mystery to even my advanced intellect."

The hologram dimmed for a moment before the sphere of blue code vanished. "Now that we've gotten that out of the way, I have a message from Admiral Osman. Shall I play it?" Atwood's smile evaporated, replaced by an inquisitive expression. _Why is she sending me a message now? What kind of game is she playing?_ After a moment's hesitation, the commander simply nodded.

Black-Box's avatar vanished, replaced by a familiar face. Despite himself, Atwood smiled once more. He couldn't help it: the two had always been very close, and that bond had only strengthened during their service in ONI. He hadn't seen her in over two years, but she was as beautiful as ever. She looked strong, as she always did, but she wore a smile, a rare sight on the face of the most powerful woman in the UNSC.

"BB, play the damn message already." The hologram flashed in annoyance, but the avatar of Osman began to speak.

"Hey, it's me. Obviously." A chuckle escaped her lips. Atwood smiled: only he could reduce CINCONI to the equivalent of a shy schoolgirl. "I sent this message to you because… well, you need to know everything about the latest shipment." Atwood's smile faded: business, then. The admiral sighed, putting her hand to her forehead.

"Spartan branch insisted that Onyx take this assignment, but I'm worried. These guys, they're good. Hell, with their scores, they could go toe-to-toe with Noble or maybe even an S-II team. But they're not stable: they went through hell on Malurok." Malurok: the commander's interest was officially piqued.

The Battle of Malurok had been the UNSC's first major strategic offensive since the end of the Great War. A major Covenant fleet had set up shop on a Sangheili fortress world and the UNSC Security Council decided to send a strike force to cripple it. Atwood had been stationed at Prometheus at the time, but he had heard rumors of a large Spartan contingent deployed during the ground invasion. The only other thing he knew was that the strike force had taken significant casualties, but the battle was a resounding victory for the UNSC.

"So I'm sharing their full CSVs with you: everything, uncensored in its true glory. You'll be impressed. These guys might not be Blue, but they damn sure try to be. Anyways, I figured you could handle it: after all, you are somewhat of an expert on Spartans." Osman and Atwood shared a smile at that.

"So on a more personal note, I pulled some strings and got you a ticket out on the next supply drop in two months. I figured you could use some R&amp;R, and I've heard from one of my best officers that Sundown is a great place to be. So, look out for that, sailor." She put on her best seductive face, and failed spectacularly: something that Atwood loved about her.

"Anyways, if you want to talk, I think BB can always swing a secure line. Take care of his little clone: he wants him back. I have to go: Lord Hood wants an update on Venezia. I will see you in a few months. Bye Kirk." Osman turned away, but turned back around to utter one last phrase, almost in a whisper: "I miss you."

With that, the hologram of Osman was replaced by Black-Box, who whistled. "So the rumors are true. Of course, I've known for years now." Atwood smiled and tapped in a command to the holotank. "Where are the Spartans' records?"

"In the other chip. Osman didn't want me to spoil the surprise. Funny how she's like that." Atwood smiled at that and leaned back in his chair. "Well, what are you waiting for, BB? Open 'em up."

In a flash, five files joined Black-Box's avatar in the hologram. Each one was represented by a small sphere, each numbered one through five. _I realize I never got their names. Strange, even for a Spartan._ Undeterred, he decided to open the fifth file first. _She was their stealth expert, if I recall._

The file flashed open and the commander began to read.


	3. Chapter II: The Woman in Black

**SECTION I: REVELATIONS**

* * *

Chapter Two: The Woman in Black

**1238 Hours, February 21, 2557 (Military Calendar) \  
****Office of Naval Intelligence Research Station 054323-45 "Prometheus", Location Classified**

Commander Atwood frowned. Upon opening the file, he noticed several things. First, the file was heavily redacted, even the pre-Spartan service history. Onyx Five was clearly a mysterious individual. Second, the CSV was at least four times that of any ODST on the station, an impressive feat. But still, he couldn't read any of it.

"Black-Box, get rid of all this. Let's see who Onyx Five really is." Upon his command, the AI went to work. He scrubbed away the work of the ONI censors like a child wiping away letters in the sand. Within seconds, the full CSV floated in front of Atwood, with all redactions gone. Atwood nodded and took a swig of water from a plastic bottle.

"Do the same to the other four records. Let's not waste time." Black-Box's avatar tipped up and down, doing what could be best approximated to a nod. His cold mechanical voice rang out just seconds later. "Done. Shall we begin?"

Atwood poked the hologram with his index finger, opening it fully. Black-Box began to narrate. It was more for his pleasure than Atwood's, but the commander didn't mind. It was useful to have another set of "eyes" on the document.

"Spartan Yasmin Rajavi, service number 15270-73060-YR. Born on October 25, 2528 in County of Newton, State of Mare Nubium, Luna." A picture of Yasmin popped up. She was quite beautiful, with caramel skin and shoulder-length black hair. A long scar ran from her right ear across her cheek to her chin. Her eyes were a soft brown: inviting rather than frightening.

"Mother was Commander Sana Rajavi, teacher at the Luna Academy." Atwood tapped on her mother's name, opening an ancillary file. Now he spoke. "Amazing. Commanded the UNSC _Ulysses_ during the Second Battle of Harvest, received the Legion of Honor for her efforts. What did she teach at the Academy?" He scrolled down, his eyes flashing across the page.

Black-Box highlighted the relevant information in yellow. "Advanced Orbital Tactics. I remember that class. It was…" He looked up at Black-Box, who somehow managed to look unamused. "Never mind. Continue."

The AI cleared his imaginary throat and began to narrate once more. "As I was saying earlier, she was born in a hospital at the OCS Academy. A mere eleven months after Yasmin's birth, Commander Rajavi was sent back into the fray by the orders of Vice Admiral Cole himself. She was given the brevet rank of Rear Admiral and given command of a small battle group tasked with defending the Outer Colonies." A holographic representation of a small UNSC fleet replaced the file. The battle group was commanded by a _Marathon_-class heavy cruiser, the UNSC _Baghdad_.

"On August 12, 2532, Battle Group Baghdad engaged a fleet of five Covenant battlecruisers over Sansar. All fifteen ships were lost with all hands, Sansar glassed soon after." The holographic representation faded away, once again replaced by Yasmin's file. Atwood looked sympathetic to her plight. Even though he no longer remembered his parents' names, he still remembered their faces, the soothing tone of his mother's voice. The pain of their loss had stayed with him for his entire life.

"Early psychological evaluations of Yasmin indicated an extreme hatred for the Covenant, combined with a keen tactical sense. At age 17, she enlisted in the Navy, being selected for OCS straight out of basic training. After only two months at Luna Academy, she was placed in the Naval Special Warfare School, training as a member of NAVSPECWAR Team Bravo-One-Two."

Her service history zoomed in on her training record: near perfect scores in weapons training, tactical exercises, and stealth techniques. "Yasmin, now a Lieutenant and commander of Team Bravo-One-Two, fought first against the Insurrection. Deployed across the colonies, she completed eleven high-risk missions against various targets."

A bevy of operations files flashed open, inundating the Commander with information. "One mission in particular stands out. In January 2549, she and her team deployed to Mamore as part of an anti-insurgency taskforce. Bravo-One-Two was tasked with the elimination of a fifty-man Insurrectionist cell operating out of the capital. Lieutenant Rajavi inserted into the Insurrectionist stronghold before the rest of her team, killing at least twenty-five enemy soldiers and the cell's leader. The survivors claimed that they only saw 'a women in black.' The members of Bravo-One-Two, and soon the entirety of NAVSPECWAR, came to call Yasmin just that: The Woman in Black."

A mission report from Operation: JESTER flashed up now, which Atwood skimmed briefly. He was amazed: Rajavi had entered the compound without a support team and only armed with a M7S submachine gun. She had killed at least seventeen Insurrectionists before opening a back door to let the remaining members of her team in. She then killed another four Insurrectionists, running out of ammo and forced to kill the enemy leader, a former ODST, with her bare hands.

"This mission record runs more like a Headhunter op. It's impressive." Black-Box signaled his acknowledgement with a simple nod and continued to narrate. The mission record disappeared, replaced by a picture of Yasmin in full dress uniform being awarded the Silver Star by Admiral Stanforth in 2550.

"After receiving the Silver Star, Rajavi was promoted to Lieutenant Commander and was given command of NAVSPECWAR Troop Bravo-One. She was soon deployed across the Inner Colonies to help stave off the Covenant advance. Taking part in a number of zero-G operations, Commander Rajavi was wounded over Fumirole and returned to Reach for medical leave."

"When the Covenant invaded the planet, she was called back to active duty and deployed in New Alexandria alongside ODST units. However, following the loss of Olympic Tower and the arrival of the Fleet of Particular Justice, the Commander was evacuated on the UNSC _Glamorgan_ on the direct orders of Admiral Parangosky. The _Glamorgan _escaped into slipspace just as the Covenant began to glass the planet."

Atwood frowned: why would the head of ONI want a lowly Lieutenant Commander evacuated from Reach? He knew from experience that only the most important personnel were able to get seats on the few transports able to make it off-planet during Reach's demise. If Parangosky wanted her, then Yasmin Rajavi must have been one hell of an asset.

"It appears that Admiral Parangosky met with Commander Rajavi on September 23, 2552. After the meeting, Admiral Parangosky forced NAVSPECWAR to promote her to full Commander and then deployed her aboard the UNSC _Infinity_. She was to join growing shadow force of operators to be utilized in hit-and-run operations in the event of the UNSC's fall."

Atwood smirked. _That was Serin's old command_. It was a great example of Admiral Parangosky's motto: "Strength through Paranoia." Following the disaster at Reach, ONI secretly began to stockpile assets outside the Sol system for a guerilla campaign against a victorious Covenant. _Infinity_ would have taken part in the campaign, once she reached completion in early 2553. However, the ensuing Battle of Earth and the fall of the Covenant ended the need for such an operation.

"Following the end of the war, Commander Rajavi was once again deployed to the Outer Colonies to quell the resurgent Insurrection. In February 2554, she participated in the UNSC's campaign on Draco III, working alongside Spartan-III operators in the combat theater. Receiving the Colonial Cross for exceptional gallantry during the Great War, Commander Rajavi was forced into mandatory leave for six months."

Atwood raised his hand, and Black-Box paused. Atwood expanded the file with a swipe of his hands, scrutinizing it for a moment. "Says here her recruiting officer was Jun-A266. Wow, she must have been something special."

"Yes, she is."

* * *

Spartan Yasmin Rajavi walked out of the Spartan barracks. She wore her fatigues, having changed out of her armor a few minutes before. The atmosphere in the barracks was too much for her to handle, so she decided to find the O-Club on the station. _A drink would feel great right about now_.

Her right shoulder itched. She grimaced. _Not this again_. The phantom limb continued to irritate her as she walked down the hallway. The prosthetic arm whirred as she clenched her fist, willing the feeling to disappear. It continued unabated. _It's so fucking frustrating sometimes_.

After nearly half an hour of searching, she finally found it: a compartment located on Deck E where most of the officers and scientists lived. The Spartan noticed a small security panel to the right of the door. It read her neural transmitter, flashing green as it recognized her as an "officer." _Perks of being a Spartan, I guess_.

The door slid open, revealing a converted storage room. Apparently, ONI hadn't built an Officers' Club originally, so the men and women of the station had gone to work. A beautiful oak bar stood at the far side of the room, with a young Lieutenant JG acting as a bartender at the moment. Spread throughout the room were leather armchairs, oak tables with matching chairs, and even a small library of paper books. _Something you don't see every day._

The Spartan stepped into the room, the door sealing shut behind her. The room was mostly empty at the moment, with only a few naval officers and some scientists occupying chairs at one of the tables. Yasmin strode over to the bar, her heavy footfalls garnering the attention of everyone in the room. _Still haven't gotten used to that_. When she served with Delta Company, she was around other Spartans constantly, and never really paid attention to their quirks.

However, as the only augmented individual in the room, she became painfully. Clocking in at around six foot four inches, the Spartan towered over almost any human male. Yasmin weighed around one hundred ten kilograms, and while she hadn't lost her womanly curves, her muscles were toned beyond human capacity. _This is why I like the armor_. Inside her armor, she got different looks: ones of admiration, even fear. Bared as she was now, Yasmin felt like people were silently judging her as a freak of nature.

She ignored those thoughts and stood in front of the bar. The JG had turned around, her hands thoroughly scrubbing a dirty glass. The Spartan cleared her throat to grab the officer's attention. The young woman turned around, her jaw dropping at the sight of the supersoldier standing in front of her. _This must be her first time_. Yasmin spoke up, her voice filling the awkward silence in the room.

"Give me a scotch on the rocks." The JG simply nodded, wide-eyed at her new patron. As the young blond woman turned around to fiddle behind the counter, Yasmin turned to look at the other occupants of the room. One of the Marine lieutenants was currently dealing in a game of poker, with two naval lieutenants and another three scientists taking part. A lieutenant commander, an engineer by his uniform, was sitting in one of the armchairs, a beer in his hand. He noticed the Spartan glancing at him and raised his drink in acknowledgement. Yasmin simply nodded and turned back around to find a neatly made scotch sitting in front of her.

She'd picked up an affinity for the drink at OCS, where a certain Scottish lieutenant had introduced her to it. Unfortunately, the lieutenant had died aboard the UNSC _Culloden_ just a few months after graduation. The last time she had seen him, they had gotten plastered in some bar on Reach, right before they both shipped out. _Rest in peace, Murray_.

She looked up to thank the JG, but the young woman had already turned back around. Yasmin decided to sit down at the bar, drinking alone in peace. As she swirled the whiskey around, taking in its aromas, her mind began to drift. The setting reminded her of one quiet August afternoon three years ago…

* * *

**1546 Hours, August 12, 2554 (Military Calendar) \  
****New York, New York, United Republic of North America, Earth**

Commander Yasmin Rajavi took a sip from her glass. _The scotch on Draco III was better_. She set the glass back down on the bar, thinking back to her time on the colony. She and her new troop, Alpha-Six, had just been reassigned to Earth when word arrived of the uprising. The NAVSPECWAR troop had been one of the first to be deployed, operating from the UNSC _Andraste_.

Upon reaching the planet, Alpha-Six dropped in Human Entry Vehicles to secure a high-value asset for the UNSC. Her troop, forty operators strong, was deployed to the northern pole of the planet. While ODSTs and Marines secured the city of New Albany, Alpha-Six fought their way to a vital superluminal communications relay.

Upon securing the lightly guarded station, the troop was ordered to wait for reinforcements. After two days, the Insurrectionists began to attack _en masse_. Alpha-Six lost seventeen good men and women that day: Yasmin still had condolence letters to write to their families.

Yasmin took another sip, grimacing at the bad scotch. _Is it just the brand or is all Earth scotch this bad?_ She shook her head and looked up to talk to the bartender. She found the burly man with his mouth agape, staring at the door behind her. The commander turned around to see what exactly made such a "tough guy" so intimidated.

A man in a black suit stood in the doorway, his massive frame blocking most of it. His head was completely shorn of hair, his dome shining in the sunlight. He strode into the bar, his footfalls sounding more like those of a Cyclops exoskeleton than a person's. _A Spartan. A fucking Spartan_.

The human tank, while out of armor, reminded Yasmin of Draco III once more. On the third day, after losing Senior Chief Petty Officer O'Hara, the NAVSPECWAR troop was out of options. But just as the Insurrectionists moved to attack, four drop pods slammed into the earth behind them. The commander was stunned that theater command would send that few soldiers, until she saw just who they sent.

Spartans. Like mythical angels of death, they descended on the battlefield to dole out divine punishment. Yasmin was amazed as the four-person team demolished an entire company in the span of five minutes. The way their armor shimmered as they took fire, the skill and precision with which they attacked, the absolute grace and fluidity of their movements: it was intoxicating to watch.

The Spartan walked up next to her, looking the bartender straight in the eye. "I'll have whatever she is having." His gaze seemed to pierce the air, his blue eyes boring right into the unfortunate man behind the bar. The bartender simply nodded and rushed off to make the supersoldier a drink.

The Spartan sat down next to her, the bar stool groaning to support his weight. As he sat to her right, she noticed a tattoo on the left side of his face: a fist grasping three arrows. _That's an odd thing to tattoo on your face_. The commander realized she was staring when the Spartan looked over at him, his lips moving upwards in a smile.

"Appreciating the artwork?" Yasmin's cheeks flared red with embarrassment. The man chuckled and stuck out his right hand. "The name's Jun." Still flustered, the young naval commander shook the Spartan's hand firmly. _Damn. What are his bones made of, titanium?_

"Commander Yasmin Rajavi." That elicited another chuckle from the Spartan. Confused and somewhat angry, the commando pulled her hand back and took another sip of scotch. By that time, the bartender set down an identical glass in front of Jun. Without another word, he took a gulp of the whiskey, whistling as it went down his throat.

"Not nearly as good as the booze on Reach." _His voice sounds familiar_. She couldn't place it, but Yasmin knew she had heard his voice somewhere before. "Did you serve on Reach?"

Jun looked over at her. "Yes, I did. Saw New Alexandria turned into a wasteland before my very eyes. Watched from a prowler in orbit as Reach became nothing more than a memory." He took another gulp, this one bigger than the last. "Heard the last moments of my teammates' lives as they bled out in Aszod."

Yasmin now knew where she had heard the voice: the Spartans who had fought in New Alexandria, he was one of them. "You were part of Noble Team?" Jun smirked once again. "Very clever. I saw in your file that you served in New Alexandria attached to the 11th Shock Troops. Did you ever meet a Gunnery Sergeant by the name of Edward Buck?"

Yasmin shook her head, confused once more by his question. Jun frowned. "Huh, interesting. I just had a very similar talk with him not too long ago." Another gulp of scotch. Jun turned to her and looked her over. "You and he are very alike. Both soldiers of the highest caliber, both of you served for years against the Covenant. Now, we're asking you to serve again."

Yasmin was puzzled. _What is he talking about?_ "I'm sorry, but I still have three weeks of leave left. If ONI thinks that they can pull my team into some joint op with Spartans, they…" Jun chuckled again. "And what's with that chuckle? What is going on?"

"Let's just say that important people have seen what you can do and are interested in using that potential. I'm assuming you have heard of the SPARTAN-IV program?" A simple nod from Yasmin answered the question. "After the war ended, HIGHCOM decided that creating new Spartans was in humanity's best interest. Our success against the Covenant was partly due to men and women like the Master Chief, after all. So, we began to screen some of the most experienced soldiers across the UNSC for compatibility with our genetic protocols. Those that were found to be compatible were withdrawn from their units and turned into some of the greatest soldiers in human history."

Jun placed a holopad on the counter, pressing a few buttons at the base. A holographic representation of a Spartan leapt from the pad to hover in the air. Clad in a suit of form-fitting MJOLNIR armor, the supersoldier elicited a look of admiration from Yasmin. Even with all her training, all her skills, she would never be as lethal as a Spartan. Their augmentations, coupled with their highly advanced armor suite, made them the most efficient killers in the UNSC.

"The first class of one-hundred forty-five were selected immediately following the war, augmented and immediately deployed against the Insurrection. Now, HIGHCOM just approved the next phase of the program: an additional three hundred Spartan-IVs." Yasmin's jaw dropped: over four hundred Spartans? If they'd had that many during the war, the Covenant would've never glassed Reach or taken Earth.

Jun powered down the holopad and stored it in his breastpocket once more. "So, Commander Rajavi, are you willing to leave the comfort of the Navy for a chance at greatness? A chance to become one of the greatest champions of humanity?"

"Are you ready to be a Spartan?"

Yasmin's eyes widened, despite herself. _A Spartan, me?_ She found herself nodding vehemently before she could even process what had happened. Jun smiled and handed her a data chip. "You are ordered to report to the Quito Space Tether at 0700 two days from now. Pack light: and don't bother bringing clothes. You won't fit in them after the augmentations."

Jun turned to leave, Yasmin staring at the Spartan in astonishment. As he reached the doorway, he slipped on his black sunglasses and turned around to speak once more. "And Yasmin? Congratulations." Yasmin tried to stammer out a thank-you, but all that came out was gibbersh. Jun chuckled and stepped out into the sunlight.

Yasmin looked down at the data chip in her hands. _What just happened?_

* * *

**1307 Hours, February 21, 2557 (Military Calendar) \  
****Office of Naval Intelligence Research Station 054323-45 "Prometheus", Location Classified**

Yasmin took a big swig of whiskey, whistling softly at the taste. _This is damn good. Better than that swill on Earth, that's for sure._ The Spartan absentmindedly swirled the glass around, the servo motors in her mechanical wrist whirring at the motion. It was just another painful reminder of everything that had happened since that fateful day three years before.

She unconsciously clenched her mechanical fist. Uniquely designed for Spartan operators, the cybernetic limb was permanently grafted to the nervous system and surrounding muscles. It was as strong, as fast, and could react as quickly as the Spartan's own augmented limbs.

However, there was a downside to this. Following their augmentations, the Spartan-IVs had undergone extensive training to control their impressive abilities. It took months, with each Spartan adjusting to the augmentations in a unique way. Protocol dictated that after receiving a prosthetic limb, Spartans would undergo the same training to "relearn" all the muscle memory they had lost. Yasmin had only been in training for six weeks before Fireteam Onyx had boarded the _Ajax_. The control she had over her cybernetics, while improving, still had a ways to go.

The glass shattered in her hand, spilling whiskey all over the bar. "Shit!" Yasmin muttered under her breath as she swept the glass fragments into her hand. Every eye in the O-Club was on her. _The crazy Spartan with a robot arm. Sounds like a psychologist's favorite patient._ The JG behind the counter helped her clean up the mess, hands trembling the whole time.

Yasmin shook her head and deposited the glass into a trash can. Striding over to the door, she turned to see the officers and civilians return to their cards, trying not to stare. Rolling her eyes, Yasmin opened the door and walked out into the hallway. She stood there for a few seconds, wondering what to do next.

_Maybe I can get a good workout in. I need to get used to this damn arm._ The Spartan stalked off, oblivious to the eyes watching her.

* * *

"She lost the arm at Malurok?" Black-Box "nodded" in affirmation. Commander Atwood leaned back in his chair and contemplated the Spartan's complete file. She truly was remarkable: highest scores in stealth among the entire Spartan branch. HIGHCOM had selected her as the sole tester of a prototype active camouflage module, which she used in unorthodox situations with the utmost efficiency.

Even with the loss of her arm, something that would warrant at least a year of physical training, Yasmin was back in the field. Sure, she was rusty and needed practice, but the young Spartan was still an efficient killing machine by all senses of the word.

Satisfied with the first Spartan, Atwood closed the file on Onyx Five. _One down, four to go._ "Might as well go in order." Black-Box scoffed, claiming to have found the "perfect way to digest such dull and drab information."

Atwood ignored the pompous AI and opened the file simply marked "Four." _Once more into the breach._

* * *

**Author's Note**:

So another chapter is down. I hope you enjoyed your introduction to Onyx Five, otherwise known as "The Woman in Black." Don't worry, this fic isn't going to be all narration, but we need to set up the characters for the big action sequences later.

You probably have a lot of questions, mostly relating to Malurok. I promise, that will be addressed eventually. I've planned most of the fic out, including a 24-page (I'm not kidding) summary of the Battle of Malurok.

The next chapter, which I will hopefully have out soon, is entitled "An Explosive Personality." So keep an eye out for that! Until then, see ya!


	4. Chapter III: An Explosive Personality

**SECTION I: REVELATIONS**

* * *

Chapter Three: An Explosive Personality

**1310 Hours, February 21, 2557 (Military Calendar) \  
****Office of Naval Intelligence Research Station 054323-45 "Prometheus", Location Classified**

Commander Atwood was relieved to see that Onyx Four's file was nowhere nearly as redacted as the previous one. It took Black-Box less than a second to prepare the CSV for reading. "Are you ready, sir?" Atwood nodded.

"Spartan Xing Huan, service number 88326-46655-XH. Born on August 10, 2526 on the colony of Actium. Enlisted with the UNSC in 2544, resulting in her being one of the lucky citizens off-world when the Covenant invaded the following year. She lost her entire family to the Covenant as a result of the campaign." Black-Box almost sounded compassionate as he read, but Atwood knew it was a front. The AI was incapable of empathizing with anyone.

A picture of Xing Huan flashed open as he spoke. _She's pretty enough, but not like the last one_. Whereas Yasmin was short and still somewhat curvaceous for a Spartan, Xing was taller, with more of an angular beauty. Her short hair, the same black as Yasmin's, was pulled up into a bun behind her head. Looking at her brown eyes, Atwood could sense an inner fire not seen in Onyx Five. Clearly, Xing Huan was not to be trifled with.

"Served two tours as a member of the 14th Mechanized BCT in the uprisings of '47 before being pulled into the UNSC Army Airborne." A file flashed open, highlighted text popping out at Atwood. Taking a closer look, the commander saw why the young woman had been recruited. Numerous reports from commanding officers and trainers confirmed the same thing: her supposed wizardry with explosives.

One commander had this to say: _On one patrol, Specialist Huan's platoon was pushed back by Insurrectionist forces. They were corralled into a six-story building, where they prepared defensive fortifications. The platoon was ill-equipped, with no remaining heavy weapons or specialist support. When faced with insurmountable odds, Specialist Huan, acting against orders, expertly placed homemade explosives on an adjacent building. As soon as the entirety of the Insurrectionist battalion entered the kill zone, Huan detonated the explosives, killing nearly three hundred enemy soldiers._ She ended up receiving the Legion of Honor for her feat, but was demoted to Private First Class for insubordination.

"Huan spent four months training at Camp Washington on Reach before being shipped out to almost a dozen worlds to delay the Covenant advance. Deployed as part of the 14th Airborne Regiment, she quickly rose in rank, making Staff Sergeant by 2551. Her squad took heavy casualties in the Battle of Meridian, with Huan receiving a Bronze Star. Following Meridian's glassing and the effective destruction of the 14th Airborne, Staff Sergeant Huan was brought to Reach by the UNSC _Hatteras._ Due to her extensive experience with Covenant explosive devices, she was selected to train new recruits in basic EOD."

Atwood grimaced: it seemed that every soldier in the UNSC was sent to Reach just to be turned into glass during the planet's destruction. He could still remember watching the planet burn below him, Serin's strong arms wrapped around him as he sobbed. He could still hear the cries of civilian ship captains over the radio as the victorious Covenant fleet blasted them out of the sky. Even now, his chest tightened at the loss of his adopted homeworld.

"The Staff Sergeant was called into combat following the declaration of WINTER CONTINGENCY on Reach. Huan participated in Operation: NIGHTWING, dropping into the enemy-held Viery Territory as the pathfinders for the UNSC counteroffensive. Operating alongside members of the renowned NOBLE Team, she distinguished herself with her extensive use of Covenant explosive weapons." Atwood opened the after-action report from the battle, noting an addendum from Sierra-A239. _She's fucking crazy. Going after a Brute Chieftain with a jury-rigged explosive launcher? Woman's got balls._

Atwood smiled: not many people could elicit such high praise from a Spartan, especially Emile. The assault specialist of Noble always had a tough time interacting with non-Spartans, but one thing was clear from his praise. Even before her augmentation, Huan had a Spartan's mentality. _Never retreat, never surrender._

"Following the destruction of the UNSC _Grafton_, Huan was pulled back by HIGHCOM brass. Her unit was selected to run civilian evacuation out of the Manassas Spaceport until the main Covenant fleet arrived on August 14th. The 19th Airborne Regiment, Huan's temporary unit, was almost completely wiped out by a concerted Covenant ground offensive. Three days after the Covenant's arrival, Staff Sergeant Huan and fourteen others made it aboard evacuation transports before Covenant cruisers began to glass Manassas."

Commander Atwood took another swig from his water bottle. The display now showed a clip from an Army trooper's helmet cam, one "Pv2 K. Hufker." The timestamp was [2:21:45], from the final battle of the 19th Airborne. The screen suddenly flashed alive, showing the tarmac of the Manassas spaceport. No audio was playing, but it was clear from the visuals that a pitched battle was going on. Plasma fire was flashing from behind, and two Banshees flew over the trooper. Hufker was running towards a wall of sandbags in the distance, where a squad of troopers was hunkered down.

Airborne troopers were essentially the ODSTs of the Army: an elite unit capable of both conventional large-scale warfare and small high-risk operations. However, due to military priorities shifting from the Army to the Marine Corps after the start of the Great War, their armor was pared down compared to the ODSTs. Instead of sealed battle suits like the ODST armor, they wore a simple variation of the Army Battle Dress Uniform. They sported an armored vest, shoulder pauldrons, thigh armor, shin guards, and an Air Assault helmet. The helmet was based off of the ODST helmet, equipped with VISR technology and with a bluish-silver faceplate.

Hufker continued to run towards the wall of sandbags, the helmet cam shaking from the movement. As he approached the squad, his helmet began to identify IFF tags through its VISR system. Of interest to Commander Atwood was a tag that read "SSG X. Huan." Huan's faceplate was depolarized, so Atwood could see the sergeant bellowing orders. She held a M6G Magnum in one hand and a M363 sticky detonator in the other, firing off the magnum at unseen Covenant forces.

It was clear that the UNSC forces had been fighting for a significant amount of time. Rifles and empty ammunition cartridges littered the ground, as did a great number of human and alien corpses. At this point, audio kicked in.

"Come on, Hufker! Move your ass!" Huan fired off two more shots, the bullets zipping past Private Hufker. A pained grunt came from not far behind, indicating the shots hit their intended target. At this point, Hufker clambered over the sandbags, taking cover just as two more Banshees flew overhead. Explosions reverberated from down the line, followed by pained screams to Hufker's right. The private took a quick glance: the Banshees' fuel rod cannons had blown apart a sandbag wall thirty meters away. The squad behind them either died instantly, leaving behind only carbonized bones, or fell to the ground screaming at their third-degree burns. Hufker shuddered and stood up to fire off a three-round burst from his MA37 assault rifle.

The burst felled a Grunt in red armor, who crumpled to the ground like a sack of potatoes. The blue-armored Elite leading the squad let out a roar and opened fire on Hufker. Swearing loudly, the private ducked behind the sandbags again. When he peeked his head over the sandbags, an audible gasp was heard over the helmet recorder.

Staff Sergeant Huan had charged the Covenant squad, firing off four shots from her Magnum. The Elite's shields flared, but held. Huan holstered her pistol and raised the sticky detonator to fire. However, the weapon didn't fire, likely due to battle damage. Yanking the magnetic explosive off the firing pin, the Staff Sergeant closed to within melee distance of the Elite, who fired off a burst from his plasma rifle.

Huan hit the ground, sliding behind the confused Elite's legs and popping up behind the saurian. Acting quickly, she brought the explosive down on the Elite's back, arming it with the force of the impact. Leaping backwards, she typed in a command to her TACPAD mounted on her right forearm.

The sticky grenade flashed red before detonating. The Elite died instantly, its torso turning to indigo-colored pulp from the force of the explosion. Its legs fell backwards, still twitching. Its head, detached from the torso by the detonation, landed two meters away, covered in blood and gore. Commander Atwood whistled in appreciation as Huan sprinted back to the human line, plasma fire roaring around her.

The helmet cam footage cut out, replaced by Huan's CSV once more. Black-Box continued to narrate. "Once Huan and her unit reached Earth, they were reassigned to the 9th Airborne Regiment based out of Hong Kong. She received a Silver Star for her efforts on Reach, being promoted to Sergeant First Class accordingly. During the Covenant invasion, they were deployed against Covenant encampments across East Asia, with Huan receiving two Bronze Stars and the Purple Heart over the course of the month."

Pictures of Huan flooded the display. One showed Huan firing an assault rifle full auto at a charging Brute, another showed her firing a rocket launcher at an incoming Ghost. It was clear from the pictures and the earlier video that Huan was a brave, if somewhat foolhardy, soldier.

"After the remnants of the Covenant fleet retreated through the Portal at Voi, the remnants of the 9th Airborne were deployed around the Portal. They held position until New Year's Eve, when the war was declared over by the UNSC. Huan was later cited by the military police for drunk and disorderly conduct and fraternization with a superior officer. She was kept from court martial by a general pardon, but was forced into a training role by a superior."

The Commander interrupted the AI for a brief moment. "When was she recruited to the program?"

"It appears she was first given the offer in January 2553, although she did not accept until July of the next year. Odd, but not unusually: many, including the renowned ODST Edward Buck, deferred their offers to become Spartans until the second class was approved in 2554." Black-Box finished his narration, with his avatar now replacing the files on the display. "So, what are your thoughts?"

"She's… interesting. A bit wild for a Spartan?"

"You don't know the half of it."

* * *

Spartan Xing Huan stalked out of the barracks, fury evident in her expression. _I need to run._ Luckily, the station had a track on Deck L, along with other PT facilities. The Spartan walked towards the elevators, breathing in and out. _Just like those shrinks told me to._

Stepping into the nearest elevator, she was greeted by stares: ones of terror from the civilians, ones of awe and respect from the military types. Xing rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, blocking them out. Eventually, the civilians filed off the elevator at random decks, and most of the soldiers and sailors had departed by Deck I. That left only two Helljumpers in the elevator with Huan, and they simply continued to talk amongst themselves. _Good._

The elevator dinged as the doors slid open. Xing stomped out the door first, immediately breaking into a jog. The ODSTs followed her, seeking occasional glances as she jogged to the PT facility's entrance. The door read her IFF tag and slid open to welcome her, a light flashing green as it happened. The Spartan stopped dead in her tracks: _this is amazing._

Even though the UNSC contingent was relatively small compared to other stations, the PT facilities on Prometheus were light years ahead of anything else Xing had seen. There were dozens of machines which, she delightfully noted, were all rated for Spartan use. The track was actually an access tunnel that ran around the length of the station, wide enough to fit four Warthogs through it. It ran over 25 kilometers for just one lap!

Xing needed to burn off some steam, so she decided to run the whole 25 kilometers. Much to her surprise, the Helljumpers lined up beside her, grinning at some stupid joke one or the other had made. They, like her, were wearing standard UNSC PT gear: a simple green T-shirt and black shorts. However, even she towered over the two, at six foot six, and was over one hundred and ten kilos of pure muscle. She made the Helljumpers look like a bunch of chumps out for a fun run.

Without a word, she broke into a "light jog." By Spartan standards, it wasn't fast, but by normal standards, she had to be pushing twenty-five kilometers per hour. The jaws of both ODSTs dropped as they watched the woman speed off into the distance. Eventually, one spoke: "Fuck this, I'm lifting today." Without a word, the other nodded. Both stepped off the track and walked towards the bench press, determined to keep their dignity.

Meanwhile, Xing had covered over half a kilometer in less than thirty seconds. Her simmering rage transformed into motivation, pushing her to go faster and faster. She settled in at around thirty-five kilometers per hour, a somewhat hard run for the distances involved. _This is gonna hurt like a bitch tomorrow._ With her pace now set, the Spartan put her body on autopilot and allowed her mind to wander.

Inevitably, it drifted back, as it always did, to her first interaction with the Spartan program.

* * *

**2356 Hours, December 31, 2552 (Military Calendar) \  
****Cairo, United Arabic Republic, Earth**

Xing giggled softly as she plopped down in bed, naked as the day she was born. _This is so stupid._ That serious voice was back in her head, but she paid no attention to it. She was going to have fun tonight, screw the consequences.

The man lying next to her was a baby-faced Lieutenant by the name of Arnold Jenkins. He, like many new recruits, came from Earth. As the Covenant had encroached into the Inner Colonies, the UNSC found itself scraping the bottom of the barrel for officers, even drafting some out of their first year of college. Arnold was no exception: born in Boston, the redhead was called into service two months after the start of his freshman year at the University of Songnam. His skills in engineering were not even considered by UNSC recruiters, who stuck him in an accelerated OCS program for Army units. He graduated just in time for the Covenant fleet to arrive at Earth in late October.

His unit, the 4th Infantry, had served alongside Huan's own regiment during the battles for Shanghai and Tokyo. The young lieutenant, while only a little over 18 years old, had distinguished himself in both engagements, eventually winning a spot as Huan's platoon leader when Lieutenant Adams fell in Tokyo. Xing was assigned as the platoon sergeant, and even though she was seven years his senior, she managed to somehow fall under his spell. _I mean, he's handsome and we could have died. Where's the harm?_

The first time they… conducted a liaison was November 15, just two days before the battle of Voi. After the Covenant inexplicably concentrated all their forces in East Africa, the 9th Airborne was ordered to move to Diego Garcia to assist in the retaking of Kenya. The two got drunk at the O-Club and did some things neither came to regret. After Commander Keyes and the Master Chief went through the Portal on the 17th, the 9th were assigned as part of a Quick Reaction Force to respond to any threats that could come through the mysterious slipspace conduit.

The two continued their affair as soon as a ceasefire was called into effect on December 23, and now both were lying exhausted in Jenkins' bed in a hotel in downtown Cairo. Following the ceasefire, the 9th were moved to Cairo for R&amp;R. The officers were put up in a nice hotel, while the enlisted set up camp in Tahrir Square. Every night, Xing would sneak away to meet with Arnold, tempting fate every time. Tonight would not be their night.

"Should we go again?" His voice was too deep for someone of his age, she decided. She propped herself up on an elbow, lazily tracing circles on his chest with her finger. His eyes greedily scanned her body, eager for another round. She put on her best sergeant face and placed a hand on his chest. She could feel his pulse quicken, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Of course, El-Tee. Orders are orders, right?" While her face was tightened into that terrifying visage she wore on the battlefield, her voice was low and husky. Jenkins shivered as she began to climb on top of him. "Just do it, already." Xing bared her teeth in a wild smile before kissing Arnold passionately.

Suddenly, someone began to thump on the door very loudly. Both Xing and Arnold started, Xing flinging herself back onto the bed. "MPs! Open up!" _Shit._ Xing leaped out of the bed, throwing on her bra and underwear in a flash. Arnold was shimmying into a pair of pants when the door lock clicked. _They must have a copy of the key._

Two fully armored Army MPs walked into the room, carrying loaded MA37 rifles pointed at the ground. A third figure, bathed in the light from the hallway, stepped into the room. Her cold blue eyes narrowed at the sight of Huan dressed in nothing but a bra and underwear. "Sergeant Huan. Why am I not surprised?"

Xing sighed audibly. _Just my luck. I get this bitch._ Lieutenant Hudson shifted her gaze to Lieutenant Jenkins, who for his credit did not flinch. _Guess staring down a rampaging Brute is enough fear to last a lifetime._ The blonde lieutenant strode up to her shirtless counterpart, their eyes locked in a silent duel. His wiry frame grew taut as he drew himself up to his full height.

Unintimidated, Hudson waved the MPs forward. One, a "PFC Jones," walked up to Xing. "Ma'am, if you would please get dressed." Her voice was quite melodious, which was odd compared to the soldier she was. Xing nodded and threw on a pair of jeans and a green blouse. She tied her hair back in a bun and turned to the private. She nodded and did an about face, marching towards the door.

Compelled to follow, Xing shot a glare at Lieutenant Hudson, whose lips were turned upwards in a sneer. _She's not even a fucking MP. Goddamn prude._ Hudson was the commander of 2nd Platoon, and due to a certain incident in Shanghai, hated everything to do with Sergeant First Class Xing Huan. _I've seen more combat in one day than she did the entire war._

Huan followed the MP to the elevators, where she jammed the down button. Settling back into a ready stance, the young woman glanced over at Xing. To her shock, she realized she was checking her out. _Kid hasn't been laid in a while, probably. Seeing a half-naked woman must have gotten her engine running._ Her mouth twisted into a wolfish grin at the thought. _No regs against that Hudson. Plus, she's not bad looking._

As the elevator doors dinged open, Huan heard fireworks outside, followed by loud cheers. Looking down at her chatter, Xing noticed that it had just turned midnight. _New year, no war. No wonder people are celebrating._

Without thinking, she grabbed the young private by the shoulders and pulled her in for a kiss. Rather than pull away, Jones deepened it. As the two broke apart, both breathing hard, the elevator doors slid shut.

* * *

**0921 Hours, January 4, 2553 (Military Calendar) \  
****Cairo, United Arabic Republic, Earth**

Xing woke with a start, crying out softly. It had been another rough night, terrors from her past resurrecting themselves in her dreams. She shook herself awake and glanced over at the woman sleeping beside her. _She's pretty good for a kid who just graduated high school_. The sergeant reached over to grab something to wear, her hands latching onto a robe. Sliding the garment over her arms, she pulled her hair back in a bun as she walked into the kitchenette.

Following the events of New Year's Eve, Xing languished in a military jail… for all of three hours. A general pardon was issued by Lord Hood himself, excusing members of the military for all non-violent crimes. So every soldier and sailor arrested for drunk and disorderly, or in her case fraternization, was free to continue tearing up the rulebooks.

Xing had learned her lesson though. Officers were off limits. Luckily, according to Airborne regulations, nothing could be done about two enlisted personnel fraternizing. So as soon as she got out of that tiny jail cell, the sergeant went out for a drink with the MP who had brought her in. The next night, she had booked both of them into a motel on the outskirts of Cairo. _Thank you, years of hazard pay. You've made me a very happy woman._

The young sergeant went about making breakfast, turning on the stove and rummaging in the fridge for anything edible. She settled on the relatively easy-to-make meal of eggs and bacon. While the bacon sizzled in the pan, Xing turned on the small television in the kitchen. _Might as well catch up on the news._

After a brief moment of static, the TV turned on. It was displaying some reality TV show rerun from thirty years prior. Rolling her eyes, Xing turned it to Global News, the only UNSC-run news channel still operational after the Covenant invasion of Earth. The face of Gary Buscemi, the renowned anchor and war correspondent, filled the screen.

"In other news, the reconstruction of Kenya has commenced. With help from the Elites, the UNSC has pledged to terraform the glassed section of Africa. Most of East Africa was laid to waste by retreating Covenant forces who were driven away by the valiant efforts of the men and women in green." Xing rolled her eyes. _Oh how little you know._

Thanks to ONI Section II, the events surrounding the Excession at Voi were highly classified. Any talk of portals or Forerunner artifacts would get you locked in an ONI prison for treason. All military units were still being monitored until the information was released to the public. _Which will be the day after never._

"The Master Chief, the legendary Spartan, was last seen deployed in Voi against the Covenant menace. Images from the front show our champion battling it out against the last remaining Covenant forces. The Spartan had disappeared from the spotlight after the Covenant's initial incursion in late October, but he returned in glorious fashion to finish the fight." A clip of the Master Chief striding forward into battle, followed by a squad of fully armed Marines, played over Buscemi's narration.

Xing watched with rapt fascination as the Master Chief went hand to hand with a Brute Chieftain. Dodging a gravity hammer strike, the Spartan threw two quick jabs at the alien's face, retreating quickly afterwards. The Brute growled and prepared to charge, only to be blown back by an explosion. The Master Chief had dropped two primed frag grenades at the chieftain's feet.

The Brute's shields flared as the shrapnel ripped into them, but somehow they still held. The Spartan pulled his assault rifle off of his back and fired full auto at his enemy. In a matter of seconds, the stunned Brute was dead, blood leaking from a dozen bullet holes in his upper chest and neck. The Master Chief stepped over the Chieftain's corpse, assault rifle sweeping the room for his next target.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Xing spun around to scan the room. Standing at the threshold of the kitchen was a mysterious man. He was dressed in a Navy service uniform, but it wasn't the one worn by line officers. It was darker, with ONI's logo plastered on both shoulders. _Fucking spooks._

"Sorry to scare you. Lieutenant Commander Richards, ONI Section III. We'd like to make you an offer."

* * *

**1341 Hours, February 21, 2557 (Military Calendar) \  
****Office of Naval Intelligence Research Station 054323-45 "Prometheus", Location Classified**

Xing could still remember the look on the spook's face when she said no. Chuckling to herself, she wiped some sweat from her brow. Checking her watch, the Spartan realized that she had already been running for thirty-two minutes. _Time flies when you're having fun._ She grimaced at her own dark humor, a bad taste filling her mouth.

She passed yet another access tunnel, this one marked "M-09." The whole track was lined with them: either to shield generator nodes, mini-MAC turrets, or a variety of other systems mounted on the surface of the asteroid. In times of emergency, the swarms of engineers operating in the station could access the systems manually for repairs or even operate the weapons by hand. _ONI plans for every contingency._

A beeping reminded Xing that she had reached the halfway point of her run. Shutting off the watch alarm, she picked up the pace.

As she sped past more access tunnels and bulkheads, Xing reflected on her life before the Spartan program. Before, she was arrogant, foolhardy even. She acted on instinct and gut feelings, often outside the military chain of command. Xing had slept around a lot, angering not only her superiors but also her enlisted brethren. They believed that she treated them like either weapons or sexual objects, not people. With all of these negatives adding up, it was a wonder that she wasn't the victim of friendly fire.

When looking back, Xing quickly realized something. She was just a normal human when she accomplished those feats. It wasn't augmentations or powered armor that helped her survive, but her wits and brawn. Only a combination of skill and extreme luck had allowed her to see the end of a war that claimed billions like her.

Following the war, once she became a Spartan, everything shifted. She was a warrior, reborn from the ashes of her previous life. For the first time in her life, Xing felt as if she had a purpose. She could finally fill the void left by the loss of her loved ones. All those men and women she had slept with had just been placeholders for her true calling: the Spartans. _I was born to do this. I was born to be a Spartan._

* * *

"Interestingly enough, Xing Huan's genetic profile matched that of many SPARTAN-III candidates. She could have served in Alpha Company, been one of the best damn Spartans you'd ever seen." Black-Box sounded almost in awe of the Spartan's genetic profile. To his credit, Atwood was impressed too. _A sixty-two percent match with the original Spartan-II genetic protocols? That's almost unheard of among the IVs. Not to mention a positive match with CHRYSANTHEMUM procedures._

"Yeah, but instead she got to know her family. Not a bad trade in my book." Atwood closed Huan's file, satisfied with what he saw. Xing Huan was a warrior, reborn from her previous life. It seemed that the members of Fireteam Onyx were far different from the rumors he had heard about the SPARTAN-IVs.

SPARTAN-IVs were far different from their predecessors. They were loud, abrasive, and acted like common soldiers. Some even derisively called them "ODSTs in Mjolnir." Atwood knew the reasoning: the SPARTAN-IVs weren't Spartans, not in the true sense. Sure, they had augmentations and powered armor, but what truly makes a Spartan is the training and discipline. The IIs and IIIs would always be better than the IVs because they knew nothing but war. They were warriors, whereas the IVs would always be just soldiers.

But from what Atwood could see, Onyx wasn't like the rest. All its members seemed professional, a detached, cool air about them. Even Four, with her famous temper, managed to stow it away for the sake of the mission. They were all veterans of the Great War, trained to operate at peak human levels before being enhanced. Atwood could sense the potential for greatness inside of them: it just needed to be unleashed.

With that in mind, he called up the next file and spoke. "Black-Box, if you would."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

What, another chapter? And so soon? I know, it's crazy right. Well, these chapters are a bit easier to write, what with the basic narrative structure in all. Besides, I love, love, love character backgrounds, and Black-Box's narration coupled with "documentation" from ONI provides a great tool for character development.

Anyways, I really want to thank everyone for the support this story has received. I honestly just wrote it to appease the little creative devils in my head, but I have to say I enjoy providing a good read (hopefully) for people.

Right now, I have the first arc planned out: seven chapters of straight character development and plot background. After Section I is complete, the story will move into the main part of the story. I haven't figured out a target length yet, but I do know that the present day narrative (Halo 4 era) will be supplemented by flashbacks to Onyx Team's formation and their adventures prior to the main story. The story is about Fireteam Onyx and their lives, especially the contrast between pre-Spartan and post-Spartan. Also, the Battle of Malurok (which I've teased several times) will be a major plot point at some point in the story.

For some context, the "present day" will stretch from February to July 2557. Flashbacks will start around November 2554 and end around July 2556. The Battle of Malurok takes place in late May, 2556.

Also, just so you're aware, I'm not writing sex scenes into this story. I tried to do my best to keep the sexuality to a low here, but it was necessary for plot. But it probably won't happen again (too much).

Stay tuned for the next chapter, "The Titan of Reach." Until then, see ya!


	5. Chapter IV: The Titan of Reach

**SECTION I: REVELATIONS**

* * *

Chapter Four: The Titan of Reach

**1344 Hours, February 21, 2557 (Military Calendar) \  
****Office of Naval Intelligence Research Station 054323-45 "Prometheus", Location Classified**

Commander Atwood brushed his shoulder off: the shirt had some dust on it. Frowning, he turned his attention back to the hologram display. A picture of an older man dominated the top left: he had bronze skin, with dark brown eyes, coarse black stubble, and a clean-shaven head. His jaw was set in grim determination, and his eyes seemed to pulse with raw, physical power. Pulling up the Spartan's physical stats, Atwood let out a low whistle.

Black-Box cleared his throat. "Spartan Moana Ngata, service number 21690-14434-MN. The assault and CQC specialist of Onyx Team, designated Onyx Three. He is also one of the tallest SPARTAN-IVs on record, clocking out at an impressive 2.13 meters." Atwood chuckled: the man, out of armor, was taller than the Master Chief himself. In fact, he was equal or greater in height than a good number of SPARTAN-IIs.

"Born on May 5, 2515, on Europa to descendants of Maori colonists. He was only ten years old when the Covenant destroyed Harvest, his father serving in the Marines at the time. After his father's battalion was destroyed by the Covenant in the ruins of Utgard, his mother fell into a depression and committed suicide in 2531. On May 5, 2533, the date of his eighteenth birthday, Ngata enlisted in the Marine Corps." Copies of Moana's enlistment papers, including a full physical examination, flashed up on the display. Atwood dismissed them with a flick of his fingers.

"After serving three tours against the Covenant, Ngata was recruited for ODST training. After six months of training on Reach, he was deployed as a member of the 9th Shock Troops Battalion. Serving with distinction in nine different campaigns, by 2550, Ngata had been awarded the Silver Star three times, the Bronze Star another seven, and the Purple Heart an astonishing nine times. It appears that Gunnery Sergeant Ngata demonstrated that remarkable Spartan resiliency early on."

Atwood was amazed: Ngata's medical records were extensive, as he was hospitalized in every campaign he took part in. In the battle for Sargasso, he had taken three Needler rounds to the chest and still managed to kill two Brutes before losing consciousness. During the campaign on Paris IV, he served alongside Avery Junior Johnson, the pair cutting a swath through Covenant lines to evacuate a squad of wounded Marines. For his efforts, Ngata was awarded the Colonial Cross and returned to Reach for physical therapy and a mandatory two-month leave."

Atwood knew how this story ends: somehow, Ngata was one of the lucky ones to make it off Reach. He wasn't surprised that the burly ODST was on Reach: it seemed to be a magnet for Onyx Team's future members. At that moment, an ancillary file in Ngata's CSV opened, titled "Colonial Cross Recommendation."

"It was at Reach that Ngata distinguished himself as a true hero of the war. When the Covenant first made landfall, Ngata was deployed as part of the 12th Shock Troops to secure the ultra-secret Sabre launch facility at Farkas Lake. His unit held the site for five days against seventeen waves of Covenant invaders, sustaining ninety-five percent casualties as a result. Ngata reportedly killed three dozen Elites in close-quarters combat, including two Ultras. Confiscating their swords and wielding them with deadly effect, he came to be both feared and respected by the Sangheili warriors. Due to his prowess in combat and imposing height, he was dubbed 'The Titan' by Covenant forces."

Even back then, Atwood discovered, Ngata towered over men at six foot six inches. Several different clips taken from soldiers' helmet cams showed Ngata over the course of the battle at Farkas Lake. One showed him blasting an Elite Minor in the face point-blank with a shotgun, while another depicted him bisecting an Ultra with an energy sword. The Maori was a one man army, racking up a kill count the SPARTAN-IIIs would have been proud of. And he was only an ordinary man.

"The remaining ODSTs were relieved by the arrival of NOBLE Team on August 14, initiating Operation: WHITE GLOVE and torching the Sabre facility. The remnants of the 12th Shock Troops linked up with the 7th stationed in Mohács. The ODSTs, much to their apparent dismay, were ordered to run civilian evacuation through the space elevator outside the city, instead of launching a counteroffensive against the Covenant invaders. On August 29, with Reach's fate all but sealed, the last elevator car, crammed with civilians and two platoons of the 7th Shock Troops, ascended the tether. Aboard that car was none other than Gunnery Sergeant Moana Ngata, who had defended the evacuation site during fourteen hours of near-constant fighting."

Atwood was stunned: Ngata had been fighting for almost as long as the SPARTAN-IIs had, and he was just an ordinary human. "Pull up genetic record for Spartan Ngata." Black-Box did as instructed, opening the Maori's medical file. A complete genetic workup was attached, along with analysis from doctors formerly part of Beta-V, the ONI program formerly responsible for the SPARTAN-IIIs. It appeared that Ngata, just like Rajavi and Huan before him, had superior genetics to most of the SPARTAN-IV recruits, with a stunning seventy-eight percent match with SPARTAN-II genetic protocols. He was well within the margin of error for SPARTAN-III augmentations, one of the doctors noting "if he had been ten years younger, he would have been a prime candidate for Alpha Company."

"Okay Black-Box, resume." The A.I. flashed red to show his discontent, but continued nonetheless.

"Upon returning to Earth, Ngata was hospitalized for severe injuries incurred during the week-long campaign on Reach. Awarded the Colonial Cross for his heroism on Reach, Ngata was promoted to Sergeant Major and granted nearly seven months of mandatory medical leave. He subsequently missed the fighting on Earth, his hospital ship scrambling on a random vector upon the Covenant's arrival. The ODST was declared fit for active duty in late March 2553, and immediately volunteered for a combat role. His requests fell on deaf ears as he was shifted into training new ODSTs to combat the growing Insurrection. However, Spartan Command offered him a place in the second class of SPARTAN-IVs. He began training as part of Delta Company in November 2554, eventually joining Fireteam Onyx."

When Black-Box ended his narration, Atwood pulled up the end of Ngata's CSV. Delta Company: he had seen that before in the previous two Spartans' records. But the files ended with the Spartans' recruitment, leaving Atwood with very little information regarding the detachment.

"Black-Box, what do you know about Delta Company?"

"You do realize I'm not actually Black-Box, right? I'm merely a copy of his subroutines designed to assist you. As such, I do not have access to his full bank of memories." Atwood bit his lip as he thought this out. The "dumb" A.I. was right: there was no way to access the information he wanted to see.

So his question still remained: what the hell is Delta Company?

* * *

Onyx Three stepped out of his fireteam's barracks, sweeping his head left and right. _I take a half-hour nap, and Huan runs off like a petulant child._ He needed to make sure she didn't hurt anyone in her anger: her simmering rage was well-known to the Maori member of Onyx. _I've been on the receiving end of it more times than I can count._

The hulking Maori walked through the deserted halls, his footsteps booming in the ominous silence. At 137.9 kilograms, Moana Ngata was easily the largest Spartan of his class, and maybe even the SPARTAN-IIIs as well. Many compared his physicality to that of a SPARTAN-II. He was what the Spartans were meant to be: walking tanks.

_Of course, I can move a hell of a lot faster than most people think._ It was true: he could still keep up with his smaller comrades. Even Huan had trouble sparring with him, his impressive combination of raw strength and precise blows making him a worthy adversary. He was well-suited to his role as Onyx's CQB specialist.

After nearly twenty minutes of stalking through the corridors in search of Huan, Ngata threw his hands up in defeat. That's when he heard grunting and shouting echoing from down the hall. _Sounds like a fight. I wonder who it is._

Ngata broke out into a full-out sprint, flying down the hall in hopes of stopping the fight. _Especially if it's Huan._ After a few seconds tearing down the corridor, he reached the room marked "Storage Room I-17." Inputting a basic command code into the keypad, he tore into the room, looking for signs of a struggle.

He was disappointed to see that the supposed fight was just a group of Marines joking around and using punching bags to work on their form. They somehow didn't notice the massive Spartan run into the room, too caught up in their activities. Moana turned to leave, but something compelled him to stay. The Maori stayed in the door frame, watching the Marines throw powerful combinations at the sand-filled punching bags. The sound of fists slapping against canvas brought back memories, a warm rush of consciousness flowing into his mind.

* * *

**0832 Hours, September 3, 2554 (Military Calendar) \  
****ODST Headquarters, Kenosha, Tanais, Mars**

Moana hit the bag again, grimacing at the pain radiating from his hand. He had been in the gym for nearly three hours now, taking advantage of his free time to let out some stress. After running for an hour and a half on the treadmill, he had hit the weights for another hour before sparring with the bag. The titanic Maori wiped away a bead of sweat from his forehead, the salt stinging the cuts on his knuckles.

Unlike most boxers, Moana rarely used gloves, instead choosing to wrap his hand in specialized cloth designed to absorb kinetic energy. The ODST did this for a simple reason: gloves shielded the hands, something a soldier didn't have in combat. Even in his bodysuit, his hands wouldn't be fully protected. He just thought it would be prudent to train as he would fight, if it came to that.

Moana stepped back into his stance, his fights hovering in front of him. He fired off two light jabs, spinning around into a kick that violently shook the punching bag. The Maori was breathing hard at this point, nearly three hours of relentless physical activity starting to get to him. _Haven't felt this worn out since Reach._

The Maori continued his fight against the phantom opponent, ducking and weaving from imaginary blows. A right hook that sounded more like a thunderclap than a punch sent pain radiating up his tired arm. He winced at the pain, stopping to flex his fingers and feel for any damage.

"Giving that bag a run for its money, eh, Sergeant Major?" The seasoned ODST spun around to find a man dressed in fatigues standing behind him. Moana took in everything in a glance. The man was Caucasian, with brilliant red hair and vibrant green eyes. A scar ran from his left ear down to beyond his shirt line. Even more bizarre, he was only millimeters shorter than Ngata, who stood at almost two meters himself.

The man smiled and stepped towards Ngata, his footsteps thundering in the empty gym. The ODST frowned at the mysterious stranger's approach. His steps sounded like his bones were made of titanium. The man chuckled at Ngata's confusion, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. "You got me. You Helljumpers know how to pick us out of a crowd."

_Us? What the hell does he…? Oh my god._ A deep, dark chuckle escaped the Maori's lips as he turned back around to spar with the bag again. "What do you want, Spartan?"

"First, I'd like to say it's an honor to meet you, sir. I've read your file: you're a legend!" The man's voice cracked, startling the ODST. _How old is he?_ The Maori Helljumper continued to hit the bag, intrigued by the young Spartan.

"My name is Albert, and I'm here with a proposition for you, Sergeant." _What the hell does a Spartan want with me?_

Even though he couldn't see Albert, Ngata heard the telltale clicks of a datapad in use. "It says here that you've applied for reassignment seven times. Each time, your superiors cited your lasting injuries and years of continuous combat against the Covenant as reasons to keep you in a training position. However, every single one of your physicals has shown that you're in prime condition. There seems to be no lasting damage that would hamper you in combat, but yet here you are."

Ngata's punches became a little more forceful as he remembered the indignity of his reassignment. The higher ups had said something about giving vets a chance to retire, be with their families. He had refused their retirement package: his parents had died a long time ago, and his few remaining comrades were the closest thing he had to a family in this world. Then, the brass took them away too, shipping him off to train ODSTs on Mars while the remaining members of his squad were deployed in the Outer Colonies. _Those assholes are putting me out to pasture_.

Ever since the end of the war, many soldiers who had fought since the beginning of the conflict nearly thirty years prior were forced into retirement or taken off the frontlines. The UNSC had no use for older, battle-hardened warriors like Ngata: with power shifting into civilian hands for the first time in decades, emphasis was placed on rebuilding Earth's extrasolar empire. For that, they needed new blood, with soldiers whose first battle was on Earth taking the forefront of humanity's expansion. _Well, them and the Spartans_.

A few months after the war ended, the UNSC unveiled its SPARTAN-IV program with a daring counterassault on Insurrectionist elements spread throughout the colony of New London. The vital Inner Colony world had become the UNSC's new fortress world following Reach's fall, and it was under threat of rebellion from several factions of the URF. Undeterred, the UNSC deployed nearly one hundred Spartan operators against the nascent insurrection. In over two dozen operations across the colony, the newly commissioned SPARTAN-IVs claimed victory over the Insurrectionists.

Humanity had been amazed at the revelation of more Spartans. Despite ONI's best efforts, it became somewhat widely known in military circles that the Master Chief, Spartan-117, had been the only Spartan to survive until the end of the war. Ngata had heard whispers of a second program, some ONI black ops division creating more Spartans, but he didn't believe it. Until Albert had walked in the door.

Ngata, ever the seasoned veteran, had come to his conclusions thirty seconds after the Spartan walked in the door. The Spartan might have been tall, but he couldn't have been more than seventeen years old. In addition, he didn't walk or act like a SPARTAN-IV: many of that generation were veterans, ODSTs or other special forces units being prime candidates for the program. Why would any of them be impressed by his service record? Sure, two Colonial Crosses was good and all, but he was just an ODST. A Spartan was something else entirely. But there was only one way to prove his theory, and the kid wasn't going to like it.

"Sergeant Ngata?" The kid interrupted him again. The Maori swung around to deliver a swift blow to the Spartan, only to have his fist caught in a vice-like grip. _Knew it._ Staring into the kid's eyes, he still saw the fearsome gaze of a warrior, and the scars proved he had seen the business end of a Brute weapon. "Okay, kid, you can let me go now."

Albert obliged, the Helljumper massaging his bruised knuckles. Chucking softly, Ngata walked over to grab his towel and water bottle. He plopped down on a stool next to the bag, Albert following close behind. "So, you're not a Spartan-IV for sure. But I thought the last of the original Spartans died on Reach."

Albert grimaced at the mention of "original Spartans." "Well, I'm not exactly original, but I'm just as good. Spartan Albert-G079 at your service." Ngata's teeth bared in a wolfish grin. _I knew it._

"What's your unit?" Albert shifted uncomfortably, looking down at his feet. "Formerly Gamma Company, Fireteam Claymore. Now I'm part of Spartan branch, just like the remaining SPARTAN-IIIs." There it was: SPARTAN-IIIs.

"What exactly do you mean by SPARTAN-IIIs?" Albert shifted again: he was nervous. Ngata pushed forward. "Come on kid, I'm not ONI." At that, the Spartan seemed to find his resolve, standing fully upright with his fists clenched at his sides.

"Idea came back in 2531, with ONI realizing there were too few Spartans to turn the tide. They decided to create the SPARTAN-IIIs as a mass deployed unit, designed to take on high-risk missions. Alpha Company took down a Covenant shipyard, Beta Company a refueling station on Pegasi Delta. Both companies suffered near-complete casualties, but succeeded in their missions."

Ngata was stunned: Spartans sent on suicide missions? From what Ngata had seen in the war, Spartans were meant to be bringers of death, clad in the myth of invincibility. Even Noble Team, who Ngata knew weren't SPARTAN-IIs, were a highly skilled group capable of dealing immense damage to the Covenant. The idea of throwing away Spartans for the sake of damaging the Covenant, even grievously, was mind boggling.

"So what did Gamma Company do?" Ngata's question, for once, didn't seem to phase the young Spartan. "About a week after Earth was invaded, we got the call to be shipped out. My team and five others were deployed to fight off Covenant forces landing on Luna. We lost eleven Spartans over the course of five days, but eventually, the Covenant just left. After our superiors figured out that the Covenant was redeploying all their forces to East Africa, ONI deployed the remaining hundred and seventy or so of us to Nairobi. We were ordered to take a Covenant battlecruiser hovering over the plains to the south of Voi. I lost every remaining member of my team that day."

"How many of your company survived?" Albert let out a derisive snort. "Less than fifty. We were chewed to pieces by the cruiser's defenses, and by the time we even got in the ship, we had lost nearly half of our assault force. ONI called us off a few hours later, saying that the situation had changed. I was attached to some Marine unit on its way to Voi, but by the time we got there, the city was already glassed. The remaining members of Gamma Company were supposed to be returned to our training facility, but the damn thing had been destroyed by the Covenant. So, ONI handed us over to Spartan branch a few months later. The rest is history."

Ngata was amazed: at just fifteen years old, the kid had survived battles that would have broken any full-grown man and gone to continue his war against the Covenant. _I guess that Spartan spirit carried over to the next class._ Ngata only wondered what the hell he could do for this hero.

"What do you want, Spartan?" He repeated the question from earlier, this time with more deference to the teenaged supersoldier. Albert grinned, grabbing his datapad off the ground from when he dropped it during Ngata's abortive attack. Punching in a command once more, he activated the device's holoprojectors.

An image of a Spartan clad in armor appeared above the pad, bringing its assault rifle to bear on an imaginary enemy. "We need more of them. Spartans. HIGHCOM just approved funding for a new batch of the IVs, and my commanders ordered me to recruit twenty of the best soldiers the UNSC has to offer. So instead of bashing in Elites' skulls like I should be, I'm stuck here until I get you to sign up." Ngata looked at the Spartan inquisitively. "You're my twentieth," the Spartan answered. "Saving the best for last, you know."

Ngata smiled at the praise. For all his Spartan training, the kid seemed to do a good deal of hero worship. It was ironic in so many ways, considering the Spartan could floor Ngata with a single blow. _Well, maybe two._ "So, are you in, Sergeant Major?"

Ngata couldn't believe it: after two years of sitting on his ass, he could finally rejoin the fight. And as a Spartan no less. It was a dream come true.

"Sergeant Major Ngata?" Albert's hand waved in front of the ODST's face. Ngata snapped out of his trance and stood up. Albert took a step back, thinking that the man was about to attack him. Instead, Ngata's hand shot forward to grasp the young Spartan's in a firm shake.

"Sign me up. And it's not Sergeant Major anymore: I think Spartan has a better ring to it."

* * *

**1407 Hours, February 21, 2557 (Military Calendar) \  
****Office of Naval Intelligence Research Station 054323-45 "Prometheus", Location Classified**

Ngata stepped out of the room, letting the door shut slowly behind him. It had been nearly two and a half years since Albert had signed him up for the program, and the Spartan still remembered the sheer joy he felt that day. For the first time since the war ended, he had a purpose again: to be a Spartan.

As an ODST, he had been the rare member of the elite corps who didn't hate the "freaks" of the Navy. They were soldiers just like him, and they deserved respect for their accomplishments. Without them, humanity wouldn't have lasted past the 2540s, let alone survived the war. Spartan-117 and his brethren were heroes, plain and simple.

Ngata looked down at his hands, remembering the power he felt after undergoing his augmentations. Much to his delight, he could now truly box without gloves, his bones nearly unbreakable. He laughed as he remembered punching a hole clear through the first punching bag he tried to use. The look of shock on his DI's face was priceless.

The former Helljumped looked up to see Yasmin walking ahead of him. Without a second's hesitation, he jogged up to meet her. Maybe she had something interesting to do.

* * *

"An interesting specimen. The Titan of Reach: I like the name, even if it is a bit ostentatious." Black-Box swiveled to look at Atwood, who seemed deep in thought. "Commander Atwood?"

The ONI officer jerked, swept out of his trance by the A.I. fragment. He had been thinking: why were such highly qualified Spartans being sent out here on guard duty? Sure, security was paramount at Prometheus, but any team of Spartans would have sufficed. They didn't need to send a Cat-II team out here to be what amounted to highly lethal security guards. What was ONI's game?

If only he could access the files on the Spartans post-augmentation, he could get some answers. All the Commander knew was that Onyx was originally part of a larger, platoon-sized force called Delta Company. Atwood assumed that it was in deference to the planned S-III Delta Company, but he couldn't be sure of anything without the goddamn files. _Oh well._

"Open the next one, BB. We've got two more to go."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Another member of Team Onyx introduced. I hoped you liked the story of Spartan Moana Ngata. He's kind of a badass, with a lot of experience fighting the Covenant. Besides, he's already kind of half a Spartan already, what with being six foot six inches and all. Also, fighting Elites hand-to-hand pre-augmentation: kind of unrealistic, but you've got to remember that humans are pretty resourceful, and Ngata was rated as being compatible with S-III genetic protocols.

Anyways, we've got three more chapters in Section I, then we move onto the main story. I'm really excited to get to Malurok, but that will be some time away. But when we get there, I promise the battle won't focus only on the Spartans: I've planned an epic naval battle as well.

The next chapter, "Hitting the Mark," will be up as soon as possible. I've really been focusing on this story, because of Halo 5 promos exciting the hell out of me. But I promise that I will start working on my LOK/Avengers crossover again. Until then, see ya!


	6. Chapter V: Hitting the Mark

**SECTION I: REVELATIONS**

* * *

Chapter Five: Hitting the Mark

**1410 Hours, February 21, 2557 (Military Calendar) \  
****Office of Naval Intelligence Research Station 054323-45 "Prometheus", Location Classified**

Commander Atwood leaned back in his chair and tapped the hologram hovering above his desk. The display zoomed in on a picture of a Caucasian male in his early twenties. He had clean-cut auburn hair and brilliant green eyes, along with a patchwork of small scars on his face. Looking at the man's physical stats, Atwood was shocked. _Only six foot two? I thought he was a Spartan._ Whereas Ngata could have been described as a titan, this Spartan was below average in both height and weight. _What's his MOS?_

"Spartan Timothy Darden, service number 96786-59690-TD. Callsign is Onyx Two, operating as the team's designated marksman or sharpshooter, depending on the day." Atwood was intrigued: how did Darden turn out so different from other Spartans? The SPARTAN-IIs all turned out to be relatively the same in regards to physical traits, but the IIIs had wild variations as a result of the loosening of genetic protocols. SPARTAN-IV augmentations, though, had solved the problem, hadn't they?

"Born on Arcadia on April 5, 2530, Darden escaped from Pirth City with his family when the Covenant attacked a year later. Settling down on Earth, the Dardens lived a relatively uneventful life until Timothy decided to join the Marine Corps on his eighteenth birthday. Strongly opposed to this decision, his parents disowned him and cast him out into the world with no support."

Atwood knew why the parents were so upset: residents of Earth had always been sheltered from conscription laws, at least before the Fall of Reach. Of course, propaganda ads put out by Section II enticed young men and women to sign up for the war in droves, but as survivors of an Outer Colony attack, the Dardens would have been much wiser than the average denizen of Earth. Seeing their son join what they viewed as the losing side in a terrible war must have broken them.

"During basic training, Darden was selected to become a scout sniper, operating as part of the 4th MEF. By 2550, he had been promoted to Corporal and received two Bronze Stars for bravery. During the battle of Minab, Darden was drafted into an ODST combat team after they had lost their sniper, and served as part of a mission to take out a high-ranking Jiralhanae Chieftain. The mission was a success, but Minab fell not four days later. Due to his temporary reassignment, Darden managed to escape aboard an ONI prowler before the 4th MEF was completely annihilated."

"After returning to Reach, Darden served as part of an ODST black ops squad, executing hit-and-run strikes on Covenant-occupied worlds. Timothy was off-world during the Fall of Reach, but his combat team was deployed to Teller Station and enacted WHITE GLOVE to prevent the Covenant from retrieving Forerunner technology. Escaping aboard the UNSC _Endurance_, the small black ops group returned to Earth and reported the complete destruction of all colonies in the Epsilon Eridani system. Darden was promoted to Sergeant prior to the Battle of Earth."

Atwood realized that Darden was the only member of Onyx Team not to fight on Reach directly. He only participated in a skirmish on the outskirts of the main battle. _Lucky for him._

"Upon the Covenant's invasion of Earth in October, Darden's team was deployed on a deep recon mission into Covenant-held territory in East Africa. The events of the mission are still highly classified, but Darden returned alongside two of his squad members nearly two weeks later. The other six ODSTs were declared KIA, while the three survivors were all awarded the Legion of Honor for gallantry. Darden and his three teammates survived the Battle of Voi as well, withdrawing to the _Forward Unto Dawn _before the Flood infestation could occur."

Atwood grimaced at the thought: two whole weeks, and no information on their mission. Was it to assassinate a Covenant Prophet, or to scout the Excession for the planned joint strike? Atwood hated not knowing things: it was his job to understand everything going on around him, and when he didn't, it felt like he was failing. Besides, Darden deserved to be recognized for his efforts, even if it wasn't public. _How high is the classification?_

Atwood whistled when he saw: _Core Four? Really?_ That meant only those cleared by CINCONI herself could see the files. Atwood might have a special relationship with Osman, but they both knew that he wasn't _that_ kind of spook. Undeterred, Atwood accessed the deployment records for Darden, which Osman had been kind enough to provide.

It looked like the nine ODSTs had been deployed on drop pods from the UNSC _Endurance_ just hours before the destruction of Mombasa. They had ignored standard drop protocols, landing right in the middle of the embattled city. Afterwards, they had gone dark, but Osman had provided additional deployment orders for the 37th MEB, a Marine unit that had operated in the same area as the squad.

According to survivors of the 37th, eight ODSTs had fought alongside them as they made their push towards New Mombasa. After their convoy was nearly destroyed by Covenant forces, the ODST squad had vanished into thin air, pursuing an Elite commander who was fleeing in a Spirit dropship. The Marines had sent out recon teams to find the special forces operators, but the ODSTs refused further assistance. The six remaining ODSTs had merely requisitioned two Warthogs and fled the city.

It was clear that Darden and his team had been on some kind of retrieval mission. Atwood vaguely remembered that another ODST squad, Alpha-Nine, had been sent on a similar mission, but he couldn't remember the details. The ODSTs in Darden's squad, regardless of their mission, must have been killed in the aftermath of the slipspace rupture that swallowed Mombasa.

According to attached communications, Darden and his team had been picked up by UNSC rescue flights on November 3, almost two weeks after they were deployed. They were evacuated to Crow's Nest, serving in recon missions as part of ONI Recon 111 for the days leading up to the Battle of Voi. After the discovery of the Portal, the three ODSTs and attached ONI personnel retreated to a safe position overlooking both Voi and the crater. Armed with handheld SAM launchers and an M99 Stanchion rifle, the black ops unit had held up a Covenant column rushing to reinforce the embattled city. Upon the arrival of the _Indulgence of Conviction_, ONI Recon 111 was extracted by Pelicans to the _Forward unto_ _Dawn_ so as to save them from infection.

"The three ODSTs accompanied the _Dawn_ on its expedition to the Ark, helping to secure a Covenant dig site nicknamed "Sandtrap" by the Marines stationed there. Upon the discovery of Truth's location, Darden and his team were sent to rendezvous with a UNSC task force at the Ark's Cartographer. Soon afterwards, the ODSTs took part in the Battle for the Citadel, initially fighting alongside SPARTAN-117."

Atwood took a look at the squad's combat records for Operation: BLIND FAITH. It was utterly remarkable: they had accomplished all of their objectives without a single casualty and operating at one third strength. Even with the Master Chief attached to their unit for a short time, it was an impressive achievement. It was clear to Atwood what the Spartan branch had seen in Darden.

"Once the Halo Array was disarmed, all human forces fell back to Sandtrap to await their return to Earth. Darden and his team were deployed once more to retrieve the crew of Victor 398, but soon afterwards returned home aboard the _Aegis Fate_." Pictures of a canyon on the Ark filled the screen. A Pelican dropship had crash landed in the middle of it, leaving debris scattered all over.

Atwood remembered the story of Victor 398: an intrepid team of SPARTAN-IIIs and ODSTs had been shot down on a deep recon mission. The team had survived wave after wave of Covenant shock troops, entrenching at the end of the canyon in a Forerunner structure. The Covenant forces were soon replaced by the Flood, who were much more willing to use unorthodox strategies than the Brutes. In the end, two Spartans and ten ODSTs died trying to hold them off. Only with the arrival of evacuation transports did the stranded team manage to escape the nightmare.

_This guy has had his hand in everything, hasn't he?_ Black-Box continued his narration. "Upon returning to Earth, Timothy Darden was enlisted by ONI as part of their Delta-6 Division, participating in a number of covert operations against Insurrectionist elements on Talitsa and Venezia. He was recruited by Spartan branch in late August of 2554, training alongside the rest of Onyx Team and by extension Delta Company."

There it was again: Delta Company. _I need to find out what that is._ "Black-Box, is there anything in the files to indicate the scope of Delta Company's operations?"

"Negative. But there is a brief summary of Onyx Team's deployments in Onyx One's files. For some reason, it seems we were given the post-Spartan portion of his alone. None of the other personnel files illustrate their careers as part of Onyx Team."

Atwood frowned: what was Osman playing at?

* * *

When his team had separated, Onyx Two was lost. Yasmin had retreated into the station somewhere, not answering comms. Soon after she had left, Xing had grunted something about a run and stormed off. Moana, as always, took a brief nap before scurrying off to find Onyx Three. Onyx One was, like the rest of his team, nowhere to be found. _Probably lost in his thoughts, as usual._

Timothy Darden, in his infinite boredom, had decided to stay in his armor and head down to the armory for some good old firearms training. Of course, he couldn't really improve at this point, but brushing up on his skills wouldn't hurt. _It's not like we have anything to do right now._

It seemed as though the station was empty. The only sounds Darden could hear through his helmet's filters was the low hum of machinery and the clang of titanium boots on titanium deck plating. _Good god, I miss the sound of battle. Happy now, universe?_

The primary armory was on Deck I, along with other storage bays and equipment depots. Upon entering, Darden was amazed at the selection of weapons. There seemed to be everything from standard MA5 assault rifle variants to rare ARC-920s, the railgun rated for only augmented personnel. Darden passed the bountiful racks of weapons to come to a titanium locker.

It was about two meters tall and was marked with the words "Onyx Team" in black paint. Inputting the six-digit code into the door, the Spartan swung open the locker. Inside lay a few pieces of equipment: personal items for the different members of the team. There was a token few Covenant weapons, souvenirs collected by Onyx Three and Four. Yasmin's customized M6H pistols, fitted with state-of-the-art attachments and up-sized for Spartan personnel, hung from the left side of the locker.

But what Darden wanted hung on the opposite side, its barrel pointing straight down. It was a custom-made SRS99-S5 AM sniper rifle, painted jet-black with grey highlights. Instead of the standard Oracle scope, it possessed a multispectral vision module with up to 20x zoom capability. The finishing touch was engraved in white letters along the side of the weapon: "Onyx."

_It's been too long._ The Spartan gingerly lifted the sniper rifle out of its place and strode over to the ammunition dispensary. Accessing the database, he requested a package of 14.5x114mm M232 Armor Piercing Fin Stabilized Discarding Sabot rounds for use at the firing range. The station hummed before a small conveyor belt whirred to life. After a few seconds, an entire carton of magazines rolled out from a hole in the wall, stopping right in front of the Spartan. Looking inside, Darden was giddy with joy: there were over twenty magazines of the highly coveted ammunition.

Sliding a magazine into the rifle's receiver, he waited for the satisfying click. He loved his chosen weapon ever since he was drafted to be a scout sniper out of Basic. The Spartan felt at peace looking down the scope at his target, feeling the anticipation of a kill rushing through his veins like a drug. He was at home behind a sniper rifle, dealing death to his enemy from long range.

In fact, ever since becoming a Spartan, Darden missed the true days of long-range combat. Even the greatest of Spartan snipers, including Linda-058, the best of the best, had been forced to encounter enemies at close range. Darden was no exception. _Especially during Malurok._

Shaking his head at the thought, the young Spartan set himself up at a firing station. Selecting the hardest training program, he linked his sniper rifle to his armor systems as the first targets cycled through. His finger came to rest on the trigger as he let out a deep breath. The buzzer sounded and the first target sprung up. All he heard was the _crack_ of his sniper rifle and the dull _thwack_ of the round making contact.

* * *

**1750 Hours, August 29, 2554 (Military Calendar) \  
****ONI Section Three Facility "Artemis", Luna, Sol system**

The last target disappeared in a flash of light. Darden looked up from his scope, grinning at the woman in the booth next to him. "See that, Ramirez? I can still kick your ass any day. I believe you own me a drink."

Ramirez rolled her eyes and stood up from her prone position. "Just because you beat me five times, doesn't mean you'll win the sixth." Darden flashed her another shit-eating grin, which was met with a middle finger. Grumbling to himself, Darden turned his attention back downrange while Ramirez stalked off to clean her rifle.

Darden was working on adjustments to his scope, trying to figure out how to boost the night-vision enhancement, when a shadow fell over him. Looking up, he saw his CO, Commander Jordan, standing over him menacingly. "Staff Sergeant, on your feet. Come with me."

Tim frowned as he stood up, leaving his beloved sniper rifle behind. _Who pissed in his cereal today? I hope it wasn't me._ The two left the armory, walking through the halls of the lunar outpost to Jordan's office. On their trip, they walked by the viewing ports, allowing Darden a breathtaking view of the lunar landscape. He could even see Earth in the distance, a green and blue marble on the backdrop of space.

Sadly, the hallway turned back into titanium bulkheads with dull lighting. Darden was anxious to get back in the field: rumor had it there was something big in the works on Mamore. _DURANDAL, was it? I can't remember._

The Commander stopped in front of his office, turning to face Darden. "Son, there is someone inside who wants to talk to you. I suggest you listen carefully, because what he's offering you, it ain't a choice to make lightly. Good luck."

With that, Jordan stomped off to harass some other unlucky soldier. Darden shrugged and walked into the office, the doors sliding quietly shut behind him. The room was simply decorated, with Jordan's medals hanging from the wall behind his mahogany desk. In front of said desk stood a tall man with black hair and brown eyes. He was dressed in a service uniform, clearly modified from the Navy. The unit patch, however, was quickly recognized by the ODST as something completely different.

It was familiar to the veteran Special Forces soldier. He had served alongside the commandos who had proudly touted the symbol for years across countless battlefields. The familiar eagle grasping a lightning bolt in its right talon and a handful of arrows in its left made Darden's heart swell. Both with pride at the thought of what would come next, and learned terror at the memory of the deadly supersoldiers who had made the insignia famous.

It was the unit patch for the legendary Spartans. Humanity's foremost guardians and the stalwart defenders of Earth and all her colonies.

Darden's breathing hitched in anticipation. While the man standing in front of him was clearly not a Spartan, he possessed the steely air of an experienced soldier. His eyes seemed to slice through the air as a hot knife cuts through butter. The man wore no rank insignia, as typical of the Spartan branch, but there was no doubting that this man was an officer.

He scanned Darden up and down, his gaze not unlike that of a predator sizing up his next meal. The veteran ODST stood up fully, his back as straight as a ramrod. _I've stared death down half a hundred times. This man can't do anything to me that I would fear._ Darden's green eyes met the brown ones of his visitor, his gaze possessing all the steel and resolve he could muster. _He cannot break me down._

The officer smirked as he met Darden's gaze. Clearly impressed, he gestured for Darden to take a seat at a chair directly in front of him. "If it's all the same to you, sir, I would prefer to stand." The mask of a joker and clown that Darden wore not ten minutes before was replaced by the visage of a battle-hardened warrior. The officer chuckled and leaned on the desk with his arms crossed over his chest.

"I'm impressed, Staff Sergeant. There are few soldiers I've seen that can make the switch so flawlessly." The young ODST twitched slightly, a motion that the other man picked up on. "You've been touched by war: all of us who survived were. The truest test of character is the battlefield: it's God's way of sorting us all out. But another test awaited us all when we returned home. How do we act the same with those we knew when we are so different? When the man is stripped away and only the warrior remains?"

The officer stood back up, circling around behind the desk. "The answer is, we can't. It's impossible to act as if everything is the same, especially after this war. Not when Earth is in ruins, when Reach and hundreds of worlds like it are just memories." He punched in a few commands to the desk's holoprojector suite.

A flash of blue light erupted from the projectors, creating an image after a split second delay. It was one that Darden had just recently seen: a picture of a war-torn city (on New London, perhaps?), with burning buildings all around. Stepping towards the camera was a familiar sight: a titan of a man, encased in gunmetal gray armor with black highlights, toting a MA5D assault rifle. His armor was well-worn, with noticeable scratches and dents from the fighting. _A Spartan._

"We need warriors like you, Staff Sergeant. Warriors like you who can become something greater, something we desperately need. We need Spartans."

Darden's response was almost immediate. "When can I start, sir?"

* * *

**1431 Hours, February 21, 2557 (Military Calendar) \  
****Office of Naval Intelligence Research Station 054323-45 "Prometheus", Location Classified**

Darden's rounds thundered down range, causing the targets to disappear in a flash of light. _These hardlight targets are sweet._ The Spartan smiled as another bullet found its way into a dodging Elite's skull. _Helps with training now that they can move, too._ He fluidly thumbed the discharge button, allowing the now empty magazine clatter to the ground.

Onyx Two reached down to grab a magazine from a pouch on his chest. He was surprised to find none there. Looking up at the upper right corner of his HUD, he was surprised to find that the ammunition counter had dwindled down to zero. _Huh, that hasn't happened in a while._ Occasionally, in the thick of training or even combat, Darden would "get in the zone." Nothing else would matter except the target.

Zoning out had gotten Darden in trouble a lot throughout his years in the service. The Marines had tried to beat it out of him in basic and scout sniper school, the ODSTs had tried in their own brutal way. Only until he became a Spartan was his burden turned into a gift. His commanding officer had realized that Darden's ability to "get in the zone" could be an asset, not a liability.

The ODSTs had taught him to keep his head on a swivel, to make sure to not to get lost in the environment. In Spartan basic, he was trained in Zen techniques used by the legendary sniper Linda-058, to hone his already heightened senses. He was shown how to focus properly, to use his precision as a truly terrifying weapon. He became a god among men, taking in every detail, everything to know about a target, a location, anything. His fellow Spartans had even taken to jokingly calling him "Eagle Eye."

With his newfound skills, he often worked in tandem with Onyx Team's resident scout, Yasmin. He allowed himself to slip into thoughts of their exploits together while he placed his weapon back into Onyx's storage compartment. Putting the empty magazines in a bin near the armory door, Onyx Two sighed as he remembered all the time he spent with the former NAVSPECWAR operative.

She was just so… He failed to find the right word. Alluring? Mysterious? Intriguing? He could spend hours thinking about it and not find the correct way to describe her. Timothy realized that this was unprofessional, to think of another soldier in such a familiar way, but she was different. They had become a huge part of each other's life, seemingly without either realizing it. _But what exactly is she to me?_

He was interrupted by a blinking light: a communications request from… _Speak of the devil_. "Go ahead Five." Oh, how he longed to use her real name. But they were trained to refer to themselves by their numerical designation over the radio at all times.

"I'm about to head to the gym for some much needed training. Care to join me?" There it was: the imploring tone, with some deeper meaning hidden within the words. _Or maybe I'm just reading too much into it._ Anyways, his friend needed help. "Sure. Armor or no?"

"Come suited up. It's been far too long since our last spar. Hope you don't mind me kicking your ass." Tim laughed at Yasmin's comment, feeling that warm sensation spread across his chest. It had been far too long since he felt this way. _Ever since Malurok._

"Sure you will. I'll be right there." He closed the radio link and checked to make sure he wasn't carrying any weapons on his person. It felt so unnatural, but orders were orders: the Spartans weren't on the clock until tomorrow. Finding none, the eagle-eyed sniper walked out of the armory to find his friend.

* * *

"These combat scores are amazing. Top of his class in sniper school. I've only seen maybe four other Spartans this good, including Linda." Commander Atwood scrolled through all of Darden's sim scores, finally pulling up a video of Darden fighting in training. He was equipped with the Recruit armor suite at the time, and was working with Onyx Two at the time.

It was clear that the two were trained in very different styles of combat. Darden was methodical and precise, using a DMR to fire at hardlight constructs of traditional Covenant members. He interrupted his firing patterns irregularly to bring his rifle butt crashing down on enemy skulls with unrelenting force. Rajavi, on the other hand, seemed to follow the flow of combat with as much grace as a leaf on the wind. She danced around her enemies, dual wielding a SMG and a M6 pistol to devastating effect.

"These two make a very deadly team. Like a certain pair of officers I've read so much about." Black-Box's acerbic response elicited a thin smile from the ONI commander, who simply took a sip from his drink. He knew exactly what the AI was talking about, but he wouldn't give BB the satisfaction.

"So why did ONI send us such a crack team? These Spartans should be out there fighting rebellions and Covenant splinter groups, not guarding a bunch of prototypes. What did they do that was so heinous, even for ONI?" He punched in a few more search terms, desperately looking for any shred of Onyx Team's deployment records. All he got were more references to Delta Company, infuriating him even more.

It wasn't like Serin to keep secrets from him, even if it was classified at Core Four, which he knew it wasn't. If only he had a Waypoint connection: then he could access ONI's database himself with his quite impressive security credentials. But sadly, due to the secrecy of Prometheus, no communications with UEG planets were allowed. Prerecorded messages, like Serin's, were the only way to contact the outside world. _And the next supply run isn't for another two months. God damn it._

"Well, I guess Serin wants me to find out the old fashioned way." Atwood brought up the next file as Black-Box pondered what he said. "And what, Commander, does that mean?"

"Good old-fashioned intelligence gathering, BB. I'll have to talk to them."

* * *

**Author's Note: **

So yeah, I'm really sorry about the delay. It's honestly kind of hard to write between my job and school, but I'm doing the best I can. I know that's not a very good excuse, but I'll try to crank out another chapter soon. I'm almost done with this introduction of characters business.

Hope you enjoyed Onyx Team's resident sniper. He's supposed to inject some humor and light-heartedness into the situation, because Onyx Team has some serious problems. Also, possible romance blossoms even as the galaxy is beset by war. Yes, it's going to happen.

I've also been working on an idea for a short fic about Gamma Company, using my OC Albert-G079 as the protagonist. It would probably fill the gap between Section I and II of Prometheus, but tell me what you think.

The next chapter is simply titled "One of Us." It focuses on the enigmatic Onyx One, leader of the elite team, as well as the team's formation.

Until next time!


	7. Chapter VI: One of Us

**SECTION I: REVELATIONS**

* * *

Chapter Six: One of Us

**1437 Hours, February 21, 2557 (Military Calendar) \  
****Office of Naval Intelligence Research Station 054323-45 "Prometheus", Location Classified**

Commandeer Atwood's breathing hitched as he saw the length of Onyx One's CSV. Not only was he a decorated soldier pre-augmentation, but by the number of operations he had participated in as a Spartan, it was clear that he was above even the might of Onyx Team. There was only one word to describe Spartans like this: legendary.

"Spartan Aaron Ferguson, service number 47760-51809-AF. Current callsign is Onyx One, but according to his records, he served as Delta Company's commander and as part of… the original Onyx Team." At that, Atwood's curiosity exploded through an invisible ceiling. He simply had to know. "He has also operated independently of any larger Spartan units for some time, but more on that later."

The commander decided to give Black-Box his time. The AI, or rather the fragment of BB, seemed to be enjoying his narration. Besides, it sure as hell beat reading.

"This Spartan was born on March 14, 2520 to grain farmers just outside of Gladsheim on Harvest." Commander Atwood's heart skipped a beat: the commander of Onyx Team was a survivor of Harvest. Not only that, but he was most likely an orphan. _The war tore apart too many families_.

"It seems that his uncle was a former member of the CMA who had been discharged for medical reasons and re-settled on Harvest with his family. The young Ferguson had looked up to his uncle and father, as all children do. Unfortunately, the Covenant struck the planet when he was only 4 years old. Aaron's father and uncle gave their lives to allow him and his mother to escape, nearly killing a Brute in the process."

_Impressive: not many normal humans can say that they fought off a Brute, especially without military equipment._ Commander Atwood pulled up a photo of a young Aaron Ferguson, taken at a UNSC resettlement camp on Draco III. The child had a thick head of dirty blonde hair and was caked with dirt and dust, but the commander recognized the look in his grey eyes. He could see the warrior Aaron would become: a soldier determined to slay the same monsters that took his father from him.

"One tragedy seemed to follow another for the young boy. His mother committed suicide in 2532, leaving Aaron to fend for himself in one of many resettlement camps on Draco III. As soon as he turned 17 in 2537, he enlisted in the Marinek Corps and served in four campaigns across three different systems." Another picture of Aaron popped up: now, he was a twenty-something Marine firing a MA5B assault rifle, seemingly roaring as he did so. Upon closer examination, Atwood realized that this same photo had been used in a UNSC propaganda ad in the 2540s. _He looks like a berserker. How did that become a Spartan?_

"After he was wounded on Miridem, he was extended an invitation to join the Orbital Drop Shock Troopers. He quite literally left the hospital two days earlier to begin his training. After months of grueling work, Sergeant Aaron Ferguson was assigned to the 17th Shock Troops Battalion and quickly rose to command a squad of his own. From the beginning of his deployment as an ODST, ONI kept their eyes on him, having identified him as a possible candidate for a theoretical Spartan successor program." An ONI file on Ferguson flashed open, with a picture of a fully armor-clad ODST vaulting over a trench lip towards the enemy. Yet again, Atwood recognized the picture from a propaganda video. _Seriously, did he sign a contract with Section Two?_

"Ferguson served in eleven different campaigns as an ODST, receiving, among other commendations, four Silver Stars and the Colonial Cross. Apparently, he killed an entire Covenant platoon while trying to save his squad on Algolis. You should definitely read that section of the report later." Black-Box sounded impressed. _And he's rarely impressed. Guess this Spartan is one of those full-blown angels of death he keeps blabbering on about._

"In August of 2552, Gunnery Sergeant Ferguson fought alongside Spartan NOBLE Team on Reach, first to help repel the initial attack on ONI SWORD Base and then side by side with Nobles One and Five. During the course of the battle he received extensive plasma burns trying to charge a fixed position. He was medevaced to the UNSC _Hopeful _for treatment, managing to escape the battle before the main Covenant fleet elements arrived on August 30th."

Yet again, another member of Onyx Team had escaped Reach by the skin of their teeth. _Honestly, how the hell do these people do it?_ Atwood skimmed through the medical reports from Ferguson's injuries: he had sustained burns on his upper torso and arms trying to take down a Shade turret. Only a trip to the _Hopeful_'s burn unit had saved his life. _These bastards are just lucky._

"After two months of recuperation in a medical facility on Earth, Ferguson was released from care the day that the Covenant fleet first arrived. He was quickly redeployed alongside ONI security units to defend the skyhooks above Luna, even working with a handful of Spartan-III fireteams."

Atwood remembered his days on Earth during the invasion: they were fraught with worry, almost torturously so. He had been the one in charge of Spartan-III deployments, alongside Serin of course. They had even been evacuated by a team of the young commandoes. _Dagger, was it?_

"Following the arrival of the Forerunner Dreadnaught, the ODST was redeployed to the UNSC _Aegis Fate_. He was aboard the frigate when it followed the Covenant through the Portal at Voi alongside the Fleet of Retribution. Having been damaged in the initial space battle, _Aegis Fate_ couldn't deploy its personnel until the final battle for the Citadel. Gunnery Sergeant Ferguson was deployed alongside an armored platoon, serving with both Timothy Darden and SPARTAN-117."

A video of the final battle filled the holographic screen. Ferguson had just dismounted from a damaged Warthog, firing his assault rifle at an unknown enemy. By the looks of it, this had been captured from the Master Chief's personal helmet cam. _He must have been good, for the Chief to ride with him._ A burnt out Scarab loomed menacingly in the background, but the ODST pressed on, followed quickly by a dazed SPARTAN-II. Together, the two cut a swath through the remaining Covenant infantry and reached the chasm separating them from the Citadel. Before the Master Chief ran across the activated light bridge, he turned to Ferguson and nodded slightly in appreciation. In response, the ODST saluted the final SPARTAN as he charged into the mouth of hell itself.

"Even before augmentations, he could do that? He's…" Atwood stopped himself. He never reminded himself of his past life. _It's not who I am anymore. I'm not that kind of person anymore._ Black-Box finished his sentence for him. "In the words of his Spartan recruiter, he is one of the finest soldiers he had ever seen. Oh, did I mention that was Jun talking?"

Atwood smiled warmly. Jun really wasn't one to give out compliments like that. "Continue with your narration, BB. I haven't got all day." The floating blue cube shivered in indignation. "Don't you dare rush me, Commander." The AI "cleared his throat" and continued on.

"After returning home on the _Aegis Fate_, Aaron Ferguson was officially recruited for the first class of the SPARTAN-IV program by none other than Jun-A266. Accepting the offer, he took part in the augmentation procedures and trained with the first class of 145 Spartans on Mars. It says here that he was allowed leave to return to Earth for the christening of the Voi Memorial, but quickly returned back to complete his training."

Only those who had taken part in Operation: BLIND FAITH and the brass of the UNSC were allowed to attend the memorial ceremony. Atwood had read the transcript of Hood's speech: short but impressive nonetheless. Even the Arbiter had attended, pledging his support to the nascent peace process between humanity and its former Sangheili enemies.

A picture of Ferguson standing in full dress, a head above most humans in attendance, filled the screen. The man had close-cut dirty blonde hair, with a few small scars here and there on his hands. His face seemed remarkably unmarked for a man so accustomed to war, with the exception of a small scar curling down from his lip.

"Five months after the conclusion of the Human-Covenant War, Spartan Ferguson was deployed alongside one hundred SPARTAN operators to take part in anti-insurgency operations on New London. Afterwards, he was assigned as a permanent member of Fireteam Onyx, first commanded by Spartan Sarah Palmer."

_Palmer: Infinity's Spartan commander?_ He had heard stories of the Spartan: former ODST, tough as nails. Young too: of course, almost all the SPARTAN-IVs were young compared to him. _Wow, guess I really am old now. All those years in cryo kept me looking young, though. Or so Serin keeps telling me._

"The fireteam quickly became known as the deadliest SPARTAN-IVs, serving in multiple operations against the Insurrection, including the highly publicized Draco III rebellion in February 2554. After putting down the rebels, Fireteam Onyx was given three weeks of shore leave on Earth, which was cut short by a force recall directive courtesy of…"

"The Office of Naval Intelligence. What the hell did we want from these guys?"

"Remember the Fleet of Glorious Ascendance?" Atwood nodded: everyone at ONI remembered the sheer terror that gripped their hearts during that crisis. A Sangheili admiral had returned from a military expedition to find the Covenant torn asunder and humanity still barely clinging to existence. Hoping to rectify this "problem", the warlord declared war on Earth, massing a fleet of over two hundred ships over Harvest. Desperate to save the human race from what would assuredly be its extinction, the UNSC put together a Spartan strike force to neutralize the threat using one of the last remaining NOVA bombs.

"Well, they were part of the Spartan contingent that neutralized 'Qualom's naval forces." Atwood's eyes widened at the implication: Ferguson had served on that team? His appreciation for the SPARTAN-IV's skills grew once he began skimming the after-action report. Not only did he single-handedly take down five Sangheili Honor Guardsmen, but he killed Beren 'Qualom, a legendary warrior in his own right, in single combat.

"Once Operation: SALVATION was concluded, Fireteam Onyx was broken up in preparation for the recruitment of more SPARTAN-IVs. Spartans Palmer and Davis served as a two-soldier spec ops team, Spartan Dalton went on to command Fireteam Talon, and Spartans Kodiak and Ferguson were loaned to the Office of Naval Intelligence for high-risk operations. Spartan Ferguson operated independently of any other Spartans for four months before being recalled to Mars once more."

A copy of Ferguson's recall orders flashed open, along with records of all his operations for ONI. Venezia, Talitsa, Terceira, half a dozen other worlds: all his missions were efficient, clean, with casualty counts in the hundreds. _Remarkable: a one-man army by all accounts._ So why did Spartan branch recall such a valuable asset? Looking at the recall orders, Atwood saw that Admiral Osman had signed off on the transfer back to Spartan branch.

"Early in 2554, Spartan Ferguson had drafted an idea for a new type of Spartan unit, not considered since the days of the SPARTAN-III program. He postulated that the current fireteam-based training regimen of SPARTAN-IVs limited the program's ability to take those small teams and forge them into a larger, more effective fighting force. He further theorized that training a platoon-sized force from the start with more rigor than previously done would make the IVs more effective, even to the level of the previous programs."

Ferguson's theory was sound: the IIs and IIIs had been trained as part of a larger fighting force, which partially explained their clear superiority to the IVs. If the IVs could be trained to work as a larger unit, they would possess that versatility that the previous Spartan generations had. They would be a mighty sword to smite the enemies of humanity. They would be true Spartans.

"Evidently, HIGHCOM thought so too, because Ferguson was offered the command of a proof-of-concept force classified as Spartan Delta Company. From the beginning, he took a different approach to training: rather than working with already augmented personnel, he selected one hundred and fifty UNSC personnel flagged by Spartan branch and put them through what he called "Spartan basic." He evidently drew upon ODST training protocols and combined them with regimens from the previous programs."

Pictures of training manuals, written by Ferguson personally, flashed open on the holoscreen. Atwood was once again stunned by the Spartan's ingenuity. He was a tactical genius. _He must have put his trainees through the ringer_. "How many made it through his training program?"

"Only forty were augmented after ten weeks. Another ten were transferred to other units, leaving only six full fireteams of SPARTAN-IVs to operate as part of Delta Company."

Atwood leaned back in his chair, analyzing the data pulled up by Black-Box. Six diamonds, all different colors, hung in front of him. Under each icon was the name of a fireteam. Above all the diamonds was a square icon, colored white and simply titled "CDR Ferguson." Tapping the white square, Atwood saw the display morph into a 3D model of a Spartan in full gear.

His chosen armor was the Soldier pattern: remarkably standard for a field commander, but Atwood guessed that he simply continued to use his previous armor from his time in ONI. The helmet was what truly gave the armor its trademark look: a thick metal cowl covered the lower half of the Spartan's face, leaving only a thin orange visor over the eyes. The armor was colored an olive green with white highlights, very unlike Fireteam Onyx's trademark black and gray.

"Why did he change his armor's color?" Atwood's seasoned eyes continued to analyze Ferguson's avatar, taking in the familiar dents and scratches he had seen on Onyx One's armor. He was clearly a decorated Spartan: that much was clear. "So what is a former company commander doing leading a fireteam, even one as decorated as Onyx?" He punched a couple of commands into his holographic keyboard, hoping to find more answers.

ERROR. FILE NOT FOUND. That message, as before, flashed up on the screen. Atwood slammed his fist into the desk, his face contorted in a flash of anger. _Why couldn't she just include the post-Spartan files?_ RECORDS CLASSIFIED BY SPARTAN COMMAND. _Yeah, like that has ever stopped ONI._

"What I wouldn't give for a Waypoint connection right now…" Atwood typed in another line of code, returning the screen to the icons representing Delta Company. He tapped the black diamond labeled "ONYX", opening up the fireteam's file.

Like before, five avatars materialized over the desk. Five demigods, clad in modern battle plate, "stood" before the ONI commander, for lack of a better term. To Atwood's shock, only four members of Onyx were recognizable. Underneath each Spartan were their names: Timothy Darden, Moana Ngata, Xing Huan, Yasmin Rajavi. And a fifth name, underneath a female Spartan clad in Warrior-class MJOLNIR: Maria Paris. Momentarily puzzled, Atwood almost missed the three letters listed after the mystery Spartan's name:

KIA.

* * *

The familiar clank of titanium boots on titanium deck plating resounded through Onyx One's helmet speakers, the filter making it sound even tinnier. His eyes were fixed on the end of the hallway, never deviating for a second. Those few naval personnel around him gaped at him, awed by the warrior in their midst. Even though he wasn't armed, they still gave him a wide berth, well aware of the devastation that Spartans were capable of unleashing.

And he ignored them all. His mind was elsewhere, his attention on other matters. The comings and goings of the station's personnel would soon be his concern, but not today. Today, he just needed some peace and quiet.

He knew just the place to do so: up on Deck A, near the docking and loading bays, was a small, unused stellar observation room. It was a low-tech solution to be used if the station's highly advanced stellar cartography suite or its backup on the science deck both failed. According to the station's A.I., rarely anyone used it, which made it perfect for the Spartan.

Ferguson passed a massive door labeled "5" and made his way to a small titanium door at the end of the long, wide corridor. As he approached, a wall panel next to the door slid open to reveal a keypad. It was an old model, battery-powered so as to maintain the security of the room in the event of system-wide power failure. He punched in the four digit code given to him by Athena, his armored fingers making the buttons look even smaller.

The keypad beeped and slid back into the wall, the panel closing in front of it. The door likewise slid open, revealing a beautiful stellar backdrop. Stepping fully into the room, Onyx One took in his surroundings. The room was small, maybe thirty meters long by twenty meters wide. While three walls were simply unadorned Titanium-A, the fourth wall was made of the same glass used in starship bridges. Beyond it lay the cold, unyielding vacuum of space, sheer blackness interspersed with distant specks of light and much closer chunks of rock and clouds of dust from the surrounding asteroid field.

There were two chairs in the middle of the room, but the Spartan knew that they wouldn't support his weight. Seeing that his only other option were flimsy folding chairs lined up on the sides of the room, he elected to stand instead. He was content to just look out on the distant stars, his HUD turned off to expand his view.

That familiar ache in his chest seemed to expand as he gazed out on the cosmos. He remembered doing this same sort of thing with _her_ all those months ago. Before Malurok, before his life as a warrior truly began. A life of solitude, a life of regret.

* * *

**0957 Hours, July 17, 2554 (Military Calendar) \  
****HIGHCOM Facility Bravo-6, Sydney, Australia, Earth**

Never before had Aaron Ferguson felt so… alone. Even in a sea of personnel, making their way into the headquarters of the UNSC, he stood out. Of course, he was wearing full MJOLNIR armor, courtesy of his marching orders from ONI. He looked down to see the familiar symbol emblazoned on his upper torso, near his left shoulder. The mark that proclaimed him to be untouchable, even by Spartan standards. He was a god among gods, implacable, invincible.

_If only that were true._ The SPARTAN-IV program, only 145 strong at its inception, had already begun to lose soldiers. Among the most prevalent to Ferguson was a Spartan who had died alone, outmanned and outgunned on the moon of some Outer Colony world that Ferguson couldn't even remember. Edward Davis was a comrade, a friend: and the Covenant gunned him down like an animal.

He could feel the reactive crystal layer of his armor flex as his own muscles did. The sheer power he possessed in the armor was still something that Ferguson was in complete awe of. How simple it now was to break bones, shatter ligaments, and rip limbs from bodies. Still, he had learned how to control his motions for good reasons. The slightest of slip-ups could end in fellow service members injured or dead.

The Spartan refocused his attention on the bank of elevators near the back of the building. They were protected by a full fireteam of SPARTAN-IVs, outfitted with the Warrior armor suite, their armor mostly cobalt with white highlights. _Colossus._ The fireteam had trained alongside Onyx on Mars, but they had always come dead last in training exercises. _Guess they're on guard duty now._

Without a word, the line of supersoldiers parted before him. Colossus's leader (_Garrick, I think?_) nodded to his fellow Spartan, who solemnly returned the favor. Without another word, the Spartans closed ranks behind him, their assault rifles resting gently in their gauntleted hands. Ferguson continued to make his way to the high-security elevator bank.

Reaching the set of four elevators, he thumbed the down button and waited patiently. Just a few seconds later, the doors slid open with a whisper, revealing an oak-paneled compartment with two people already inside. One was a familiar face to the Spartan, while the other one struck fear into the young Spartan's heart.

Captain Annabelle Richards flashed Aaron a thin smile before reaching out to shake his hand. "Spartan Ferguson, good to see you as always." He nodded and returned the handshake. "Likewise, m'am."

The redhead smiled once more and turned to the woman standing next to her. "Admiral Osman, this is the Spartan I was just telling you about. Aaron Ferguson, Delta-6 operator." The Mjolnir-clad individual broke out in a cold sweat as the other woman sized him up. _She's more terrifying than I could have imagined._

Admiral Osman's brown eyes stared up at him, seemingly boring into his faceplate. She was at least six feet two, maybe even more. She looked as fit as an Olympic athlete, despite her age. Ferguson had heard whispers from within ONI about their commander-in-chief's origins, but had never truly took stock in them before today. But now, he could see why people thought that way. _She looks like a goddamn Spartan._

The Admiral thrust her hand out as the Captain had done. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you Spartan. I've seen your work: you really are one of the best." Her hand shook his with a surprising firmness coming from a non-Spartan. Ferguson's apprehension grew as he stepped fully into the elevator, the doors sealing shut behind him with a hiss. "That deep-recon operation on Venezia stands out to me. Fifty-two Insurrectionists killed, including two key militia leaders, with an Insurrectionist A.I. recovered as well. You certainly have invaluable skills."

Aaron remained silent, choosing to let the Admiral finish with her train of thought. She looked up into his faceplate once more, that same icy cold gaze fixed on him. "Which is why I'm surprised that Spartan branch just ordered me to give you back. This must be extremely important if they want you this badly."

Ferguson was surprised: he thought that ONI was the agency responsible for his recall to Earth. Why would Spartan branch need him this badly? Surely they didn't need him for some black ops mission: those were usually Section Three's purview. Were they reforming Fireteam Onyx again? The thought of seeing his closest friends once more sent a jolt of adrenaline through his system. The excitement was tempered with a sobering realization: even if Onyx was being reinstated, they would be a man short.

The elevator dinged after its kilometer long plummet into the bowels of the facility. The doors slid openly without a sound, revealing a long hallway with a large doorway at the end. Six MPs stood guard, their assault rifles lowering back to a more relaxed position. Clearly they weren't expecting a Spartan. Ferguson exited first, standing to the side to let Admiral Osman and Captain Richards to file out.

To his surprise, Captain Richards stayed in the elevator, already thumbing the up button. "Admiral, I will see you back at Core 5." Osman turned and nodded to her protégé. _She's leaving me with Osman? What the hell did I do to deserve this?_

The doors slid shut, leaving the MJOLNIR-clad Spartan alone with the infamous admiral. She turned her gaze on him once again, before walking down towards the doorway. Ferguson followed close behind, taking in the starkness of the hallway. It was startling even to him: he expected ONI to be cold and heartless, but this seemed a bit excessive even for them.

"Spartan Ferguson?" Osman's voice seemed to come at him from every angle thanks to the acoustics of the hallway. Ferguson ignored the uneasy feeling in his gut and responded. "Yes, Admiral Osman?"

"I just want you to know that whatever I say in this room, I still believe that you are one of the finest soldiers this current Spartan program has produced. Unfortunately, as the ice queen, I'm expected to put on a show for everyone." The Admiral flashed the supersoldier an unnerving smile. "Get ready for some theater."

Before Aaron could respond, the doorway opened in front of them. The MPs filed to the side to allow the ONI admiral and her companion to enter. Ferguson took in the room as the door slid shut behind him. The room was remarkably simple, with a single U-shaped table in the middle of the space. A giant version of the UNSC's newest logo was etched into the floor before the table, the eagle's single eye staring up at the ceiling.

Behind the table sat some of the most powerful men and women in the UNSC. Ferguson breathed in a heavy sigh as he saw the memorable visage of Lord Hood, the Chief of Naval Operations and _de facto_ leader of humanity during the Human-Covenant War. He sat at the apex of the U, flanked by an empty seat to his right and General Hogan, the Marine Corps representative to the Security Council. Filling out the remaining seats on the Security Council were a balding Air Force General to the left of General Hogan and a younger, sharper looking Army Lieutenant General two seats to the right of Lord Hood. Admiral Osman moved to take the vacant seat at Lord Hood's right hand. ONI's place in the UNSC's hierarchy was absolutely clear in that moment.

Filling out the rest of the table were other officers of flag rank and even some junior ones, presumably aides and assistants to the bigger fish. Ferguson's eyes alighted upon someone who he hadn't expected to see: the commander of Spartan branch. Rear Admiral Musa may have been confined to a wheelchair, but he was still one of the most imposing figures at the table, sitting at the right end of the U-shaped table. He nodded to Spartan Ferguson, who snapped a quick salute in return.

Lord Hood cleared his throat, the action amplified by hidden speakers in the room. The chatter died down as he began to speak. "This meeting will now come to order. Now, son, what is your name?" Everyone's attention turned to the Spartan standing before them. Aaron broke out in a cold sweat: never before had he felt so scrutinized. He fell back into protocol after a split second of hesitation, snapping a salute to the gathered officers. "Spartan Aaron Ferguson reporting as ordered, sir."

"At ease, Spartan." Ferguson fell into parade rest, his hands folded behind his back. Lord Hood turned to one of the junior staffers and nodded. The young lieutenant nodded and typed some commands into his datapad. Hidden holoprojectors in the ceiling flashed to life, projecting an image of a Spartan in full gear in the middle of the U.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are here to discuss fundamental changes to the SPARTAN-IV program and Spartan branch as a whole." Osman chuckled softly, shaking her head. Ferguson was puzzled by the action, but no one else seemed to notice. _Pays to be the only augmented individual in the room._ "Admiral Musa, do you want to take this from here?"

"Of course Admiral." Musa turned to look at Aaron directly. "Spartan Ferguson, you recently sent your training officer, Jun-A266, a copy of a 'thesis', for lack of a better term, you had recently developed. To develop this thesis, you used documents from the previous three SPARTAN programs, including Project: ORION." A copy of a document flashed onscreen next. To Aaron's dismay, it had been marked for Security Council approval by Admiral Musa himself. _Didn't expect this to go this far up the food chain._

"For the benefit of all those here who have not had the pleasure of reading your thesis, please enlighten us with a short summary." Musa leaned back in his chair, his eyes silently pleading with Aaron. The Spartan was taken aback by the request, but he managed to stammer out a response. "Yes, sir, I can do that."

Aaron cleared his throat and took a few steps forward. His footsteps boomed in the cavernous room, echoing for seconds before fading. "I first came up with the idea following the loss of Spartan Holst in August of 2553. The genesis of my thesis, however, truly started with the Draco III rebellion and its aftermath. Four SPARTAN-IV teams were deployed to New Albany to combat the Insurrection there. The four teams, from the start, were plagued with communications issues and the inability to coordinate. It was because of this that the UNSC lost several assets, including an ODST taken hostage by the United Rebel Front."

"The SPARTAN-IV program has succeeded in its first objective: to create powerful soldiers to fight for the UNSC. But, it has failed to achieve a far more important goal: to create Spartans true to the name and glory established by the Master Chief and his kin." Ferguson could hear the murmurs in the room from several officers, including General Hogan and the Air Force general on the Security Council. Clearly his opinion wasn't a popular one with some of the top brass.

"Looking at post-operation reports from the previous SPARTAN programs, the fourth generation of Spartans, even with the advancements in MJOLNIR and augmentation procedures, have not lived up to the legendary status of their predecessors. Their performance against Insurrectionist cells has been adequate up to this day, but now the UNSC faces a returning threat: the Covenant. Just six weeks ago, the colony of Draetheus V was attacked by a substantial force under the command of Merg Vol. Even though two Spartans were able to repel the invasion, many lives were lost, including Spartan Edward Davis. Just a year prior to that, the Earth was under threat by another Covenant faction."

"In order to face these new threats, the SPARTAN-IV program has to change. Our training protocols have to change. And I think I have discovered the answer." He nodded to Admiral Musa, who tapped in a command on his data pad. Now, three different Spartans appeared on screen, each marked with a Roman numeral. The II was wearing MJOLNIR Mark V armor, with 117 marked on the right breastplate. The III was wearing standard SPI Mark II armor, this one marked with G079, and the IV, the only female, was wearing the GEN2 version of the Scout armor. Her name, S. Palmer, was listed below the Roman numeral.

"The SPARTAN-IIs and IIIs were so much more successful because they trained as a group from a very young age. They became true Spartans not because of fancy augmentations or equipment, but because they were part of something greater. Moral concerns asides, the training of the previous two programs far outstrips that of the fourth generation. While there are some outliers, our performance as a Spartan program isn't quite there yet. So, what if we trained SPARTAN-IVs like we did the previous programs?"

"Instead of providing augmentations and MJOLNIR first, cull the pack. Take five applicants for every available slot and work them to the bone. ODSTs undergo a very similar process of training, so why not Spartans? Becoming a Spartan should be the hardest experience in these people's lives. They need to truly earn their place, just as the Spartans of old once did. Once we've selected the appropriate candidates, augmentations come first, followed by a strict regime of training based around a platoon-sized force."

It was then that General Hogan let out a loud yet dark chuckle. "Boy, we've spent billions of credits in medical research, tech development, training protocols. Do you honestly expect us to believe some Spartan flunky knows more about special operations than us?"

Aaron didn't feel threatened by the aging general, only angered. "No sir. I don't know more about special operations. But I do know about Spartans. I served alongside members of the two previous generations. Can you say the same?" The room became silent as Hogan turned beet red from a mixture of anger and embarrassment. Ferguson and Musa both smirked, although the SPARTAN-IV's face was hidden by his helmet.

"Spartan Ferguson is one of our finest. To question his experience is to insult me and my Spartans, General Hogan. And a fireteam of Spartans is worth more than an entire company of your devil dogs, sir. Take care to remember that." Musa put on the terrifying visage his trainers had taught him at basic: one of cold malice, directed solely at the blustering Security Council member.

Lord Hood decided to intervene before things escalated. "What are you asking from us, Spartan Ferguson?"

"A pilot program. I know for a fact that the second class of SPARTAN-IVs is already being recruited as we speak. Take a hundred and fifty candidates and put them through an enhanced pre-augmentation training program. Then, using the results as a benchmark, augment and equip thirty or forty of them and train the different fireteams to work together instead of apart. If my idea doesn't improve efficiency, you can go right back to the original model of training."

The room was deathly quiet. Lord Hood and the other members of the Security Council seemed to be in deep thought, with two exceptions. Admiral Osman stared right at Ferguson, her cold gaze sending shivers down his spine. General Hogan, on the other hand, made no attempt to hide his contempt for the augmented warrior standing before them. _Marines never do like Spartans, no matter the make and model._

After a few minutes of quiet deliberation, with notes being passed and whispers exchanged, Lord Hood turned to face the SPARTAN-IV in front of him. "Your idea is intriguing Spartan. I'm tempted to approve it, but on one condition."

"What is the condition, sir?"

"That you assume command of the unit and its training." Aaron's jaw almost dropped at the statement: him, in command? "But sir, I have no command experience."

"Son, I read your report through and through, as well as your CSV. You should have been commanding a company during the war, what with your natural aptitude. Besides, the folks at ONI as well as your home branch have given you nothing but perfect marks. You are the one we want commanding this unit."

Aaron thought about the proposition, mulling it over silently. He bit his lip and fixed his eyes on a point high on the opposite wall. After a few seconds of staring, he turned his gaze back to the Admiral and his compatriots. To his surprise, Admiral Osman had a faint smile on her lips, matching that of Admiral Musa's down the table.

"I'll do it, sir. On one condition."

"Name it son."

"The unit. I want it to honor the programs who came before. To stand for something."

Lord Hood looked puzzled, but nodded. "Alright. What do you want to designate it?"

"Spartan Delta Company."

* * *

**1458 Hours, February 21, 2557 (Military Calendar) \  
****Office of Naval Intelligence Research Station 054323-45 "Prometheus", Location Classified**

Spartan Ferguson stared out upon the endless vacuum of space. The inky blackness dominated his vision, with only specks of light and random asteroids providing any aesthetic value to the void of space. _The stars are beautiful tonight, aren't they?_

Her voice wouldn't leave his head. It dominated every thought, every action, every breath. Even after all this time, he couldn't let go of the past. The Spartan, an invincible juggernaut of death and destruction, was being torn apart from the inside out.

Aaron clenched his fists tightly, enough to hear the knuckles pop from the pressure. Every part of him ached, yearned for her. He had lost people before, but never like this, never like her. A small part of him knew that as a Spartan, his duty was to humanity first. _So why do I feel like I failed in my duty?_

The shadow of Malurok still hung heavy over his head. The memories of that day would affect him for months to come. It would change the course of not only his life, but the lives of hundreds of others.

* * *

"An interesting man, to say the least." Atwood typed in a command, pulling up the avatar of Ferguson once more. His armor color scheme reminded him of the original SPARTAN-IIs, with their olive green armor and orange visors. _Was it a conscious choice, or did he simply follow a desire to be like his predecessors?_

"They all are. This fireteam is the most accomplished and quite frankly deadly of the SPARTAN-IVs I have ever heard of. Five of the most skilled Spartans, all here on this station. Now what are the odds of that?"

Black-Box's sarcasm was a bit too much for his taste, but Atwood knew what the A.I. was getting at. ONI was being particularly secretive about this group of Spartans, even more so than usual. _Is this ONI, or is this Serin?_

The Commander leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands together. The pieces were coming together, but he still didn't understand how such an important part of these Spartans' service records could be omitted. It was nearly impossible to see what exactly they had become post-augmentation. Those experiences were unknown to him.

Black-Box appeared on the holoscreen, his dull blue light filling the room. "What now, sir?"

Atwood yanked the chip from his computer, studying it carefully. His eyes narrowed for a second before he turned his gaze on the A.I. "It's time to get some answers BB."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

I'm not dead! I've been working for a while on this one, but I'm finally done! Anyways, one more chapter for Section 1 of this story. I was thinking of publishing the first chapter of my miniseries/spin-off of this story sometime closer to New Year's. The title of the spin-off is _The Sword and Shield_ and focuses on the experiences of SPARTAN-III Gamma Company during the final days of the Human-Covenant War. The main character is Albert-G079, introduced in Chapter IV of this story.

Anyways, I'm just going to say that Halo 5 is so awesome, but I don't want to spoil it for anyone! Until next time, enjoy the new game!


End file.
